


Good Jedi, Bad Jedi: Below the Temple

by SemperFun



Series: Good Jedi, Bad Jedi [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Action Dueling, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alien Character(s), Aliens, Blind Character, Blindness, Bonding, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Chases, Class Differences, Clone Wars, Corruption, Crime Fighting, Detective Noir, Detectives, Emotional Baggage, Expanded Universe, Female Protagonist, Film Noir, Gen, Good Cop Bad Cop, Gray Jedi, Interrogation, Jedi, Jedi Sentinel, Light Saber Duel - Freeform, Lightsabers, Male-Female Friendship, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Fiction, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, POV Original Character, Partnership, Plot, Plot Twists, Political, Politics, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Social Commentary, Social Issues, Stakeout, Star Wars - Expanded Universe - Freeform, Star Wars - Fandom - Freeform, Thriller, Trauma, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Underworld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 74,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperFun/pseuds/SemperFun
Summary: Padawan Calia Rayyah had spent virtually her entire life living high up in the Jedi Temple on the Republic's capital Coruscant. She had dreamed of being a Consular, negotiating peace and bringing the disparate beings of the galaxy together, and with the Clone Wars raging she imagined her talents would be needed more than ever.Jedi Knight Richar Arten, has dedicated his life to the underlevels, to trying to make life better for the countless beings who struggled to survive against the crime, drugs and poverty which existed everywhere far below the notice of the Jedi and Republic.Assigned as Arten's Padawan, Calia finds her world completely shattered as she is asked to spy on her new Master who the council believes may be in danger of falling to the Dark Side. Meanwhile, military-grade Republic weapons begin to find their way down to the underlevels, threatening to escalate the pain and violence to new levels. Master and Padawan will have to learn from each other if they have any hope of overcoming this new threat, and maybe make life just a little better below the temple.*New chapters will (hopefully) be added weekly every Monday. Be sure to check back in.
Series: Good Jedi, Bad Jedi [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837831
Comments: 35
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

He waited until it was late at night. In the heart of the Republic’s capital, Coruscant, there were always sentient beings flooding the crowded streets, markets, and skylanes, no matter what time it was. That was the reason he was determined to escaped alone in the dead of night, he wanted to see them for himself. Of course, high above up in the Jedi Temple, the apprentice was surrounded by beings of every shape and size, so it wasn’t that he was searching for beings who looked different. It was something else he sought. Despite how different all the other apprentices, padawans, and jedi were on the outside, they all seemed to talk the same, behaved the same, and more profoundly, they all felt the same way when he felt them through the Force. He could feel the Force radiate off the Jedi like a- like a constant, warm, unebbing wind of calm measured control and self-discipline. While every member of the Jedi Order trained -no dedicated- their lives to understanding the Force, the mysterious but familiar energy that interwoved all life in the galaxy, they weren’t the only beings touched by it.

Seemingly content to fade into the background of life were all the “normal” beings whose work kept the Temple running. They maintained the fleet of speeders and starships birthed in the hangar, they cooked the food served in the dining hall, they even kept the halls and meditation chambers clean. The boy, unlike most, took the time to notice them, to really see them, and each left a truly unique imprint in the Force. He’d open himself to them, dipping just below the surface of who they are, and would feel their aches and pains, or the struggles and worries weighing them down, but also the joy, the longing, and the small victories and love that kept them going. 

They were what inspired him to steal out into the dead of night, to descend from high in the Temple, and even farther down into the depths of the planet-wide city. If he was caught, his masters would make sure one of the Temple’s staff wouldn’t have to worry about some of their cleaning duties for quite some time. But he just had to see what life was like for most of the galaxy for himself. With nothing but the robes on his back, the young human apprentice had snuck out of his chambers, through the quiet halls of the the slumbering Temple, to a turbolift that the support staff used to come and go each day. He felt himself giddy with both fear and delight as he pressed the button, sending the lift tumbling down deep into the core of the planet. The boy had spent hours upon hours thinking about, imagining, what it would be like to walk among the countless beings of Coruscant, like he was one of them; all so different but still connected by the Force, and now he was finally here, he was finally doing it!

He stepped from the turbolift, his senses assaulted by new sensations as he began to wander through the crowds. The air was, he couldn’t even put a word to it, as if the air was ... experienced; as if it had been breathed and rebreathed over and over changing with each cycle. His vision was filled with lights, dim failing street lights, flashing neon advertisements, the soft glow from the endless windows where beings where settling in for the night, together they created a constant dance of shifting competing shadows before his eyes. The sounds, oh the sounds! He was engulfed in a cacophony of unfamiliar voices spoken in more languages than he could count, the whine of soaring speeders provided a sharp crescendo, the whirring chugging sound of aging air filters provided a constant steady rhythm, it all created a symphony of the underlevels. Even the smells! The sickly sweet scent of decaying waste, the rich savory aroma of foods from street vendors, and the unwashed bodies of beings of every stripe and species, all new and all stoked an inferno of new sensations. 

Despite all this, what the boy could perceive through his physical senses paled in comparison to everything he felt through the Force. As he continued wandering aimlessly, uncaring and unaware of where he was going or how he would find his way back, his consciousness constantly flew between his physical surroundings, and soaring on the currents of the Force. One moment he’d see a street seller trying to pass of his merchandise to any passing being, and the next he’d feel his desperation intermingled with excitement- the the momentary joy at the sight of an unsuspecting mark, followed by the disappointment as this weirdly dressed kid wandered by, looks like he’s spaced out on spice or sumthin. 

He saw an elderly Sullustan, slumped over against a building, only half awake reeking of a sharp acrid scent the boy wasn’t familiar with. The old being might not have seemed much on the outside, but as the boy felt for him in the Force, he felt decades of adventure and experiences. He felt a wisdom, not the stolid steady wisdom of a Jedi Master, but a lived wisdom from making mistakes and having to live with the consequences. The being turned, his eyes briefly fixed on the boy, and held his hand out to him. The boy, unthinking, took it in his own. What’s this little human playing at, just wanted a few credits. Strange, kid almost looks like he’s wearing jedi robes, whatever I need another drink.

The boy passed a young mother, he had never known his mother, or any mother for that matter. The warmth she felt for her child seemed to radiate of her, it filled the boy with a new kind of love, one he had never knew he lacked until that moment. From a small corner of her being in the Force he felt something else, a nagging clawing fear, where will my next meal come from? What will happen if the rent is late again? What will I do if Sarai gets sick. What- what is that young human doing on his own? It’s dangerous down here. Before she could do or say anything though, the boy was moving out of her sight through the crowd. 

Every step, every movement, filled him with new feelings, new emotions he never dreamed where possible. In the temple, his masters had always taught him that emotion - passion - was dangerous. That it could, would, lead to the dark side of the Force; that detachment from life was the true path to peace within the Force. The boy had always accepted this without question, but now he wasn’t so sure. He felt down here the Force was more alive and vibrant than ever before. It was almost as if he was truly feeling it for the first time! He felt new highs, new lows, a wonderful and terrible supernova of life flowing over and through him, as if he was in the very center of the Force itself! 

As he continued his journey into the bowels of Coruscant the crowds gradually began to thin, and the lights seemed to gradually dim, and before he knew it his surroundings had become more grim and dirty. However, the boy didn’t seem to notice or care, but there were beings who did notice him. 

He felt them though. There were two, and he felt their panic, driven by an almost uncontrollable desperation which grew as they saw the boy, threatening to overwhelm their thoughs. They were both sick, sick with something he couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t an infection or injury, but a poison running rampant through their bodies. Through the Force the boy could feel the wracking cough, the constant aches and pains, the lost time and memories. The boy felt a small twinge of fear as he realized they weren’t desperate for a cure; the only thing they could think of was getting more of the poison, and they saw an opportunity in the boy. 

The boy could feel his consciousness careen back into his now frozen form, too afraid to focus on his connection with the Force. He heard their footsteps echo in the darkness, growing in volume as the pair grew closer and closer. He felt his robes now damp with sweat clinging uncomfortably to his back and neck. He could see them- two adult males, both human. There was an almost predatory hunger in their eyes. One of the beings stepped into the light of an overhead lamp, his hand outstretched, beckoning to the boy as he purred, “Hey kid, you lost?” He smiled.

The boy didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“We can get you home safe. Don’t worry, you can trust us,” the second being offered as they both continued to approach the boy.

He tried to speak, but felt his voice constricted by cold fingers of fear which had wrapped tightly around his neck, threatening to strangle him. The first being reached behind his back, as both continued to stalk towards him.

Step.

Step.

Step.

He could feel his heart pounding, faster and faster, as if it was ready to burst through his chest.

The two beings were only, maybe, one meter away from the boy now. The one with his hand behind his back maneuvered it to his front, now holding small device the boy didn’t recognize.

“I just need you to look real carefully into my retinal scanner here. Once we ID you, we can get you home. Ok?”

The boy knew he was lying. He could feel it, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

All the sights, sounds, and smells that had enraptured the boy, were all gone. Replaced by a crippling silence, a dank stale odor, and the lifeless device the held in front of his eyes. A bright flash, brighter than anything he had ever seen, ever known, ever could have known, erupted in front of his vision. All he could see was pure blinding light, the last thing he would ever see. 


	2. Finally the Day

Today was the day. Today was finally the day. 

Calia had spent her whole life high up in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Her earliest memories spent in class learning the history of the Galaxy and the Jedi Order, in meditation trying to discover the mysteries and nuances of the Force, or intensive training learning to use a lightsaber. But what she longed to do, what she desired more than anything was to work as a diplomat for the order. She took to her lessons on negotiating and mediating with a passion, and had excelled beyond the expectations of her instructors, and even impressed seasoned Jedi Masters during mock negotiations. It was what always felt right to her, when she helped two sides reach an agreement, that was when she truly felt the Force moving and acting through her.

Calia after what felt like a lifetime stuck on Coruscant- with the exception of the brief excursion to Ilum to get the crystal for her lightsaber- she had yearned for a life moving among the stars, meeting beings from all walks of life, and working to solve their problems and disagreements peacefully. While the Jedi Order had been dedicated to study, and peacekeeping throughout the Galactic Republic, recently the Republic had entered into open war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and the Jedi were expected to fight. The Clone Wars (the conflict was named after the Republic's clone soldiers) may have only just begun, but many Jedi Knights and Masters had already given their lives in the conflict. This put a considerable amount of pressure on the apprentices to focus on their martial pursuits, with the expectation they would be assigned to a Master fighting and leading clone soldiers into battle on the front-lines in the name of the Republic and it’s ideals peace and freedom. While Calia had always been proficient during her combat training- suddenly very aware of the small metal cylinder clipped to her hip, her ligthsaber- she knew during war what was really needed was diplomacy, she felt finding a way to end the conflict peacefully was an even higher calling.

And today would be the day Calia’s apprenticeship would end, and she would be assigned her Master. Traditionally in the order Masters would choose their own Padawans, but with the war more and more of the temple’s duties were being moved to the various administrators to make up for the Knights and Master’s kept busy by the fighting.

A Padawan finally! Calia’s hand moved to the Padawan’s braid, the short knot she had woven into her long dark hair the previous day, signifying her advancement from Apprentice to Padawan. She and the other apprentices, who were species with hair (Calia being a human), had been taught how to tie the intricate braid by the temple’s hair stylist in a special class the previous day. She briefly wondered how busy the older bedraggled looking insectoid being was, cutting the hair for the entire temple single-handedly, or not as her four arms and perfect peripheral vision must have been helpful. Teaching the apprentices how to tie their Padawan braids must have been a point of pride for her, as a mundane non-Jedi being. 

Gathered in a a meditation room the other newly anointed Padawan’s were anxiously awaiting the news of who they would be assigned to. Calia had known all of them her whole life, and they had known her all of theirs. There was Bim, Xarea, Doop-Mo, Garn...she trailed off. She knew she should be sad, sadder than she was, knowing that it could be a long time before she saw any of them again. If she saw them again. Padawans whose Masters fought on the front were expected to fight too. A pit of fear burrowed into her stomach. Calia couldn’t comprehend being asked to...

_ What if I’m sent to the frontlines. _

_ What if I have to fight _

_ What if I have to kill- _

_ No. _

_ There is no emotion, there is peace _

_ There is no ignorance, there is knowledge _

_ There is no passion, there is serenity _

_ There is no chaos, there is harmony _

_ There is no death, there is the Force _

The Force. Calia felt it flow through her, as it rose and ebbed with her breathing. In a moment of uncertainty she almost let it crash down on her like a great wave, but that was not the Jedi way. Remembering the Jedi Code always helped to calm her emotions before she lost herself to them. When her emotions ran wild, the Force threatened to run wild within her, but that was the path to the dark side of the Force. The dark side, the shadow which always seemed to be hiding in every corner, but was rarely spoken of or acknowledged outside the occasional lesson or warning. It was as if the Jedi tried to shine so brightly with the light side to banish the dark side’s influence from the temple. Every Jedi sought to follow the path of the light, compassion, temperance, tranquility, but giving in to one’s emotions, passion, anger, and even love, would inevitably lead to the dark side; which gave only the promise of suffering for themselves and everyone around them. 

It didn’t matter though! Whatever happened her today was the will of the Force, and she would accept it as such. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what her Master would be like. She hoped her Master would be a Jedi Consular, jedi who had specialized in diplomacy, negotiation, and study of the Force. Her enthusiasm for diplomacy and negotiation made a Consular who was a diplomat her clear preference, but any Consular would still be a great Master, as she imagined widening her knowledge of the galaxy would only help her when she eventually became a diplomat herself. She was realistic though, war required warriors, and most of the Padawans today would find themselves apprenticed to a Jedi Guardians who focused lightsaber combat to fight in the name of peace and democracy. Still, there were countless possibilities: species, age, gender, and experience. Her Master could come from almost anywhere. Calia couldn’t help but feel somewhat anxious, it was impossible not to wonder who she would find herself spending the most formative years of her life as a Jedi with. Calia took a deep breathe and whispered to herself

‘Whatever happens today is the will of the Force.’

She and the other Padawans had been kept waiting for their assignments for what felt like hours. While rare, these kinds of delays were not unheard of. Typically, the Jedi Masters and Knights who lead their training kept their days highly regimented. However, when something unexpected came up, an unavailable instructor or missing equipment, there could often be long waits. Even planned but exceptional training activities could cause delays. Jedi planning was meticulous, but couldn’t adapt well to deviations. As apprentices they had been expected to wait quietly and meditate in the meantime.

This left Calia and the other Padawans waiting around for some time in one of the large group meditation chambers. They were all too excited to sit quietly and contemplate the nature of the Force though, and most were standing and chatting in small groups. Lifelong friends anxiously trying to pass the time by talking about their hopes and expectations, while others milled around quietly, or simply passed the time deep in thought; some were even trying to meditate despite the excitement and constant din of conversation. Calia didn’t need the Force to feel the air of anxiety that had settled on the chamber, at least knowing she wasn’t the only Padawan who felt anxious offered her some comfort. Though if you listened in on the various conversations floating through the air it would seem to offer a picture of confidence. Most Padawans seemed energized by the idea of going to fight in the war under their new Master. Many felt they were finally ready, and even excited, to be using their countless hours of training for the Jedi Order and Republic. Calia was glad to hear the occasional voice of protest, arguing that service in helping refugees or studying the Force was where the order should be focused.

Calia felt herself jump, the entrance to the chamber suddenly sliding open, and a hushed silence filled the room. She looked up to see an aging human Jedi, with long greying hair swept back and clasped to the back of his head, who she recognized as Master Cin Drallig. The hushed murmurs owed themselves to Master Drallig who was a brutally strict lightsaber combat instructor, often was called (though never in his presence) “The Troll,” though Calia realized she had no idea what a troll even was. Not only that, but Master Drallig also lead the Temple Guard: Jedi Knights who protected and policed the temple, figures held in both esteem and unease for fear of being brought before them for some real or imagined infraction of the Jedi Code.

He stepped in the center of the room confidently, holding a datapad in one hand. With Master Drallig’s reputation having already silenced the chamber, all eyes were on him standing erect and formal as he began speaking: ‘Padawans, first let me apologize for the delay. Now, I know you are all excited to have finished your apprenticeship, and ready to begin taking your first steps towards knighthood, but-’ he paused to let the gravity of his words sink in, ‘remember everything we do as Jedi is in service to the Force; don’t forget this. In a few minutes each of you will be meeting your Masters. Your Master will be your primary connection to the Jedi Order for several years, even decades, until you become Jedi Knights- if you become Jedi Knights. So treat them with all their due respect, and dedicate yourself to learning everything you can from them. This is not just an opportunity for you grow as individuals, but for you to make the Order, the Republic, and the Galaxy, a better place for all beings.”

He stopped, to look out among the Padawans, seemingly to see if they were carefully considering his words. He held the datapad up, his eyes flitting across the display before he continued, ‘I will call out your name and the name of your Master who, if they were available, will greet you outside the chamber. If they were not you will be escorted to the hangar where transportation to their location will be arranged. From that point on there will be no more classes, no more quiet days here at the temple spent training with one another. From now on you will spend everyday with your Master, accompanying them on whatever their duties are, even if those duties are to lead troops and fight for the Republic.” Soft murmurs began to drift through the chamber at this mention of fighting in the war, as if Master Cin Drallig warning suddenly made the war real, not just rumors or stories drifting through the temple.

Master Drallig looked up from the datapad scowling, “the Troll Stare” quickly smothering the errant talk among the Padawans. Though Calia couldn’t help but consider how according to Master Drallig himself, he didn’t have the authority to punish them anymore.

“Padawan Xarea!” Master Drallig barked. Xarea, a quiet introspective Mirialan girl, sprung to her feet startled; her green skin darkening with embarrassment. “You have been assigned to Master Ko.” Without another word she began to walk towards the chamber’s exit. Calia’s thoughts wandered to how Master Ko, well known as a strict disciplined Jedi Weapon Master, she coudn’t imagine how the quiet unassuming Xarea would adapt to his training.

Master Drallig stood in the middle of the chamber, would call out a name, the Padawan would step forward and walk out to meet their new Master. Calia sat cross-legged, on edge waiting for her name to be called, to learn who she was assigned to, and finally face her destiny. But that moment seemed to never come. Every time Master Drallig spoke a name Calia’s heart skipped with anticipation, but every time it wasn’t her name called. Soon more and more Padawans left the chamber until only Calia was left; filled with shame and fear, her guts seemed to be rolling, her heart racing. She was petrified. What had she done to deserve this? Why was she singled out?

Master Drallig sighed, running one hand over his face then up through his hair, a rare lapse of his usual rigid demeanor. Calia mind ran rampant searching for what infraction she had committed, what tradition she failed to follow, whatever reason she might have given to be denied her chance to move forward and become a Jedi. To reach the goal she had spent her entire life training for. The path chosen for her by the Order, the path she was taken from parents she never knew in order to follow. He turned to her, and in calm apologetic voice said, 'I’m sorry Padawan Rayyah. I- your Master- Knight Richar Arten, ignored his summons, and we failed to find him. We delayed the assignments in the hopes he would arrive, but we couldn’t afford to wait any longer.'

Calia felt relieved to know that she hadn’t done anything to deserve being singled out, but that relief was quickly overtaken by new fears and doubts about her Master. What kind of Jedi neglects to take on their Padawan?

‘Come with me, we will find him together and I’ll make sure he understands this kind of lapse will be inappropriate in the future.’ Without another word he turned towards the exit, Calia followed him, her heart swimming with doubts.


	3. Unexpected Turns

He side-stepped the first blaster bolt, before igniting his lightsaber to effortlessly swat the second shot aside. The street deep within Coruscant’s underlevels, normally dark and dimly lit despite being nearly midday, was now filled with the soft yellow light of the weapon’s blade, almost a meter long and composed of pure super-heated plasma. The two beings kept firing, the flashes of blue from the clumsy shots momentarily combating the saber’s yellow glow to fill the alley, and Arten kept batting them aside only briefly slowing his advance. He had been tracking these two for days, they had been preying on the already struggling beings of his level, robbing them of what little they had at blasterpoint. He knew they must have been new arrivals to the area, most of the local criminal elements knew better than to draw his attention so openly. The war had been displacing more and more beings. Making them desperate.

The two, a young human male and an older male duros, realized the futility of trying to blast him and began turning to run. Most beings heard the stories of jedi deflecting blaster bolts, but always felt they had to try their luck before giving up and running. With the Force enhancing his speed, Arten began to quickly close the distance before the pair turned a corner trying to break his line of sight; though it wouldn’t have made a difference to him. He felt for where they were, his blinded eyes making him completely reliant on the Force to sense his surroundings, feeling the mysterious energy as it flowed in and around every living thing. Despite this, he was nearly taken surprise by a concussion grenade one tossed to try and slow his pursuit. Reflexively, he reached out through the Force and with the gentlest nudge altered its trajectory, causing it to sail harmlessly over his head, detonating behind him.

Despite avoiding the explosive, it still had the desired effect of slowing him down as the two split up, the human running up a narrow staircase between two buildings, while the duros continued running down the street. Arten made a split decision to continue after the human, moving up to a higher level gave him a better chance of cornering the kid, as a fair number of the side streets were dead-ends. The human short of breath had just reached the top as Arten rounded the corner behind him, drawing the power of the Force inwards, he made one massive Force enhanced leap nearly clearing the entire staircase, landing just behind the fleeing mugger. His sudden appearance startled the runner, who in shock nearly tripped over his own feet, only requiring a slight press from Arten through the Force to completely knock him off balance, tumbling and hitting the ground hard. He tried crawling forward slightly to regain his footing, before turning on his back blaster drawn and level with the Jedi Knight. Despite standing over the thug, nearly point blank, Arten casually deflected the bolt with his lightsaber before violently kicking the blaster out of his hand, leveling his yellow blade between the young being’s eyes.

Arten was about to begin reading him his rights when he found his senses drifting towards the now discarded blaster. He quickly felt it through the Force, recognizing it as a Republic DC-17 blaster pistol. Seized by a sense of urgency, he wretched the human up by his collar with one hand; the Force to assisting him to give the illusion of holding him up nearly effortlessly. 

‘How in the name of the Force did some punk mugging beings for spare credits get his hands on a militray-grade Republic blaster!’ Arten thought. 

Throwing back the hood of his robes, Arten pulled the human’s face close to his own, the still ignited blade held vertically under his throat, bathing his terrified expression in its gentle glow. Arten knew most beings had never seen a jedi in-person, only hearing ghost-stories of the amazing feats from the mystic warriors. Meanwhile, where the boy would have expected to see a human face, his view was dominated by Arten’s bandages, blank voids where eyes should have been. Arten could feel the terror radiating off the kid. Growling, he demanded, ‘Where did you get the blaster!’ before throwing him hard back onto the grimy street. 

The human began to stammer, fumbling over his words, before his expression suddenly shifted from one of fear to triumph. He assumed the Jedi Knight hadn’t noticed his partner coming up the narrow staircase behind him, blaster carbine at the ready. Arten nonchalantly shifted his saber into a reverse grip behind his back, as he took another step towards the prone human. With barely one twitch of his muscles Arten reflect the sudden bolt back towards the duros, who grunted as he fell backwards down the stairs. Arten whipped around, hand outstretched catching the carbine in mid-air with the Force, suspending it in mid-air.

A DC-15S, also standard issue Republic.

The human’s,expression formerly lit up with thoughts of victory, blanched white in fear, as Arten maneuvered the blaster through the air in front of boy’s face. He was left staring down the barrel, the smell of the carbon scorching assaulting his nose. ‘I won’t ask you again. Where. Did. You get. The blasters!?’ priming the hovering carbine.

Calia expected to travel to some forgotten corner of the temple, to meet a lonely Jedi Archivist who had lost track of time while engrossed in their research, or maybe a Jedi Healer who was so deicated to their patients they couldn’t be pulled away. Instead Master Drallig marched towards the temple hangar, bustling with technicians and even the occasional clone trooper maintaining or repairing the various starships employed by the order. Thankfully, he didn’t lead her to a starship, but a small closed-top speeder only fit for in-atmosphere travel, with a diminutive droid pilot directly installed where the pilots seat would be.

Master Drallig stepped to the far side of the speeder as the rear doors swung open, Calia sat down on the comfortable sear just as he was commanding the droid, ‘Level 2842, Northwest quadrant, ’

‘Right away-’ the droid pausing briefly to access the temple’s datafiles before replying ‘Master Cin Drallig.’ The droid paused again, it’s disk shaped head jerking towards Calia, ‘please fasten your safety harness Master ... file not found.’ She wasn’t surprised her name wasn’t registered with the Temple’s transportation logs, but didn’t need the reminder of how insignificant she was.

The speeder’s repulsors smoothly pushed off the hangar bulkhead, hovered briefly in the in the air before pushing out into the open space of Coruscant’s midday sky. Calia had spent most of her life looking out the temple windows at the skyline of the Republic’s capital, and normally would have appreciated the rare speeder ride along the surface, a chance to take in the beautiful sights and architecture. The sunlight was nearly blinding as the speeder pulled out of the temple’s shadow. Coruscant being a ecumenopolis, a single planet-wide city, had an environment that was heavily controlled and regulated, weather, temperature, and even the seasons artificially managed. This left virtually every day warm and sunny with just enough clouds to prevent the sunlight becoming overly oppressive. Today was no different, with the clear blue sky briefly peering out between the magnificent buildings, which seemed to rise higher and higher every year owing to the Republics prosperity even while gripped in the throes of war. It was incredible to think that not only did the various buildings and towers stretch kilometers into the sky, but tens times as far beneath the surface. Of course, the surface was artificial as well, with different levels piling one on top of the other all the way through the planet’s crust, maximizing space. None of it could compare to the temple though, Calia thought as she glanced back, its vast pyramidal structure and five towers dwarfing everything around it. 

Calia gaze down into the bright clean thoroughfares, dotted with the occasional splash of greenery from a garden or park, as the speeder continued to dart in and out among the buildings and skylanes. Their pace uninhibited by speeder traffic, as jedi transports had special priority. For the first time today, Calia could feel the knots of anxiety and worry being to loosen as she observed the city skyscape rush by. Without any thought she began to loose herself to the rhythms, to the very heartbeat of the ecumenopolis. She let go of herself. Her spirit moving through the Force among beings from all walks of life, feeling their hopes, their ambitions, their desires as they lived out their day-to-day lives, safe and comfortable far from the Clone Wars.

‘Padawan Rayyah,’ Master Drallig’s hard voice sent Calia’s spirit crashing back through the Force into her body

‘Padawan Rayyah,’ he repeated more forcefully. She gathered herself, pushing her hair back behind one ear, a learned reaction from when she displeased one of her masters. Snapping back to the reality of the speeder’s back seat she responded in a humble, respectful tone, ‘Yes Master Drallig?’

He sighed deeply before turning away, placing the comlink he had been using back into his belt, ‘under normal circumstances it would not be my place to discuss your master before you meet him, but unfortunately these are not normal circumstances. Your master- Jedi Knight Richar Arten, is a highly skilled Jedi Sentinel, specifically he follows the path of a Jedi Investigator.’

Calia suddenly remembered the Jedi Sentinels, she had never even considered she would be assigned to one. The Sentinels were Jedi dedicated to a specific skill, craft, or service to the Galaxy, a skill which was not necessarily exclusive to a Jedi, things like mechanics, aviation, art, healing, and even cooking; Jedi who used their connection to the Force to refine their abilities and expertise farther than any normal being could. Their duties usually kept them far from the temple, working among the Galaxy, leaving them only on the edge of Calia’s awareness. Though she didn’t remember ever learning of Jedi Investigators.

‘I can sense your confusion young Padawan,’ Master Drallig interrupted. ‘The Investigators are rare these days, investigating crime and hunting down criminal organizations is something most Jedi believe is no longer a part of our duties; something to be left to the civillian police or droids. However, due to a-’ he paused, seemingly trying to find the proper words, ‘an- an,  _ incident _ during his apprenticeship, he took a special interest combating the criminal elements here on Coruscant. The council was against the decision, they felt he was too emotionally and personally involved, but his own master made a strong argument that it was necessary for him to find peace.’

He paused and sighed again, Calia could feel a wave of both disappointment and sadness radiating off the old master. 

‘Unfortunately that does not seem to be the case. While he is very successful, often bringing criminals to justice and protecting the beings of the district he has chosen to monitor, the Council is concerned with his methods. He often disappears for weeks on end, uses intimidation and coercion to gather information, and his investigations often end in violence. He has been warned many times that these methods are not becoming of a Jedi, but he argues his results protect Coruscant and its beings. As head of the Temple Guard, this is not the first time I have been sent to discipline him. In truth some members of the council have fears he may be in danger of falling, if he has not already begun a descent into the dark side of the Force.

An icy chill squirmed up Calia’s spine at the mention of every Jedi’s eternal enemy. 

‘One master recommended, “a Padawan assigned he should,”’ Master Drallig said chuckling at his own impression of the order’s most famous jedi. Calia appreciated his effort. He continued, ‘The council was persuaded to assign him a learner- you- who has distinguished herself with temperance and composure, in the hopes he might be reminded of his duties to the Temple and the order. It is my shame to put this burden on you young one, you are meant to be trained by your master not the other way. But there is something else. If you believe Knight Arten is giving himself to the dark side’ his words stone cold in their gravity, ‘or even if you feel his methods go too far, you are to contact the temple. Is that clear?’ he asked in a stern voice communicating the seriousness of what he was asking of her. 

Calia was speechless. She couldn’t think. None of this could be real. How could she- the speeder came to a sudden and abrupt halt, a brief moment of vertigo passed over her before the grav-generator compensated, as the speeder suddenly began to plummet straight down. The buildings around her began to stretch upwards as the speeder dropped faster and faster, before the bright midday light suddenly winked out completely, as the speeder fell through a shaft hundreds of meters in diameter below Coruscant’s surface into the underlevels. 

The boy couldn’t have spilled his guts any faster, Arten could barely keep up, but he caught one distinctive word, a name. Skeever, it was always Skeever. 

Whenever there was trouble brewing down in the 1442, the Devaronian managed to be knee deep in it. No matter how many times he brought in the petty crook, the charges were just as petty, and he was back to prowling the underlevels in no time. Eventually he stopped bothering to bring Skeever in at all. Arten knew it was a matter of time before Skeever got himself into something so deep even he couldn’t squirm his way out of. Maybe that time was now. But with enough pressure applied in the right “place,” Arten could always squeeze something useful out of him. 

Arten stomped down the streets, after binding and calling in the two muggers, towards where he left his personal speeder. The speeder, an XJ-8 was a luxury high-performance model, that was officially registered to the temple (despite being far outside the budget of anything the Jedi would ever commission for official use. Arten having “requisitioned” it off a smuggler a few cycles ago). He slammed the door down behind him as he powered it up, thoughts lost in the grave danger of military grade weapons seeping their way down to the underlevels. Escalation. Everything down here would escalate. Drug addicts would blast innocent beings over a handful of credits, street brawls between swoop gangs would grow into deadly shootouts, and deals gone wrong would end in piles of bodies, and Arten’s only lead to stopping the flow of weapons before it was too late was Skeever.

But first he’d have to find him

‘Shouldn’t be too hard considering Skeever had a taste for a vile Felucian brandy that only a few bars and cantinas bothered to stock. It was still early in the day, but not too early for Skeever to be trying to make deals in one of his usual haunts. If he wasn’t there I’ll just have to start combing street corners and alleys popular for deals, Skeever was dumb enough to try dealing in heavy military grade weapons in the open,’ Arten thought as he directed his speeder into the darkness of the crowded skylanes of Coruscant’s underlevels.

‘If he’s around I can check in with Tuk, he tends to have his ear to the ground, and if not-’ the comlink on Arten’s belt chirped rapidly, an urgent broadcast. He checked the frequency before answering, the temple’s emergency beacon, only used in the most dire circumstances where the entire order or even the planet itself was at risk. There was no message, just a set of coordinates not far from his location. 

‘The weapons would have to wait,’ Arten said out loud as he banked the speeder towards the coordinates.


	4. First Impressions

She had never been to the underlevels before. Calia had always been aware of them, she knew that most of the trillions of beings who lived and worked on Coruscant called the underlevels home, but she had never given them much thought, or even seen them for herself. Now she knew why.

The speeder continued its descent farther and farther, artificial lights flashing by so fast they appeared to be blinking in and out of existence. Calia wasn't sure how long they fell but suddenly the speeder came to a stop, once again the grav-generator compensated for the momentum, and what would have been a jarring potentially dangerous stop was reduced to a slight bump. The speeder hovered in midair momentarily, before turning to lazily coast to one side of the massive square pit in the middle of what must have been a residential neighborhood. All around them heaved a tide of beings of seemingly every species, shifting about the walkways between the tightly packed buildings.

The droid brought the speeder down into a designated parking area, but not before hovering over several beings, threatening to crush them before they rushed out of the way. The pilot's head swiveled around before announcing, 'We have arrived at your destination Master Cin Drallig.'

Without any word or warning the speeder's rear doors swung open, and with no hesitation Master Drallig stepped out. Before she even considered following him, she felt overwhelmed as stale rank air from outside first hit her nostrils, causing her eyes to water. Trying to avoid thinking about the smell (and whatever it was emanated from), she gripped the edges of the speeder's frame as she took her first steps outside. At a glance Calia could see that the layout of the streets and buildings was the same as it had been on the surface, but where there was an open sky was now a "ceiling" several dozen meters up, the previous level's walkway, and where there had been open spaces between buildings and promenades for greenery, art, or other pleastantries, instead where ramshackle shop stands, shacks, and other homemade tenements seemingly thrown together from whatever excess materials were available. Some of these buildings seemed as if they were professionally constructed, if only slightly, consisting of purely functional rectangular buildings which extended from the street up to the ceiling. The descending speeder only slowed the tide of beings going about their days momentarily, though a fair number slowed to observe the two Jedi in their anachronistic robes, seemingly pulled out of a different time.

For the first time in her life Calia felt out of place, she had never before considered how she had spent her entire life completely surrounded by Jedi, and how unique that was. SHe tried to reach out through the Force as she had on the surface, but her senses where almost immediately overwhelmed. Each individual only represented a faint glimmer in the Force, whereas the Force shone through Jedi like a blinding light, however the sheer magnitude of hundreds, if not thousands, of beings threatened to overcome her. So many beings at once, their feelings, their worries, their hunger, their desperation, completely alien emotions to the Padawan, sent her reeling back into herself. She stumbled, nearly falling from the shock; Master Drallig seemed to notice, whether through the Force or intuition.

'Calm your emotions Padawan,' he chided her as he checked a small communicator taken from his belt. She wanted to say something in her defense considering: her failed expectations, soaring anxiety, and frightening new experiences, maybe keeping her calm was difficult, but she knew better.

The two stood waiting outside the speeder as the constant flood of beings passed. Many turned to look and gawk at the Jedi as they went about their day. Calia supposed that some may have never even seen a Jedi before, she imagined they must have looked quite a sight, representing a philosophy both mysterious and powerful. She even sensed caution and wariness from many of the beings. It left her feeling felt isolated, disjointed, cut off from her connection to the other Jedi. She had never realized how comforting their constant presence had been until it wasn't there. Calia even felt locked out from the Force, flowing violently around her like a storm; something which had normally been a constant source of warmth and security, now seemed overpowering and terrifying through its sheer magnitude.

Master Drallig didn't say anything, leaving Calia standing by his side, waiting, alone. It gave her time. She began cautiously reaching out to the Force again, but instead letting it flow freely as she normally would, like a floodgate flying open, she limited it to a steady trickle. Reaching for a being here- 'Running late! need to get'- or another there- 'I hope Hurecck has those parts cheap.' She continued to gently immerse herself in the Force, sifting through its currents, tentatively, carefully, testing how far she could go before she suddenly felt something different. A being stomping through the crowd straight towards her, but this one was different than any she had felt before. They were strong in the Force, like a Jedi, but instead of a shining light they felt like a raging fire, burning with emotions- anger, frustration, urgency- but these emotions felt contained, directed as if tamed towards a purpose.

Her master?

Calia let her consciousness flow back into herself, with her eyes she could see the figure moving, more like shoving, his way through the crowd towards her and Master Drallig. She could see he was a human male, but he reminded her more of a Jedi on their way to the fronlines of the war instead of some kind of investigator. While he was wearing a jedi cloak, the hood drawn over his head, instead of the traditional Jedi robes he had some kind of segmented plate armor over his chest, with thick synth-leather gloves and boots. She knew with the war some of the Jedi were turning to wearing armor instead of robes, but they usually wore borrowed clone armor, but his looked like some kind of civilian model. Over the left breast plate of the armor he had a large knife, its synth-leather sheath was well-worn. He also wore a belt with a wide variety of tools she didn't recognize, an unremarkable lightsaber on his left hip, but what shocked her most of all was on the other hip he carried a heavy blaster pistol. Before today she had never even imagined a Jedi using such a clumsy, uncivilized weapon, not to mention regularly carrying one.

As he approached, the crowd dispersing as he reached where she and Master Drallig stood next to the parked temple speeder, she could clearly see his face, leaving her even more stunned. While under different circumstances she might have been surprised by his short, poorly clipped hair and unshaven stubble, her thoughts were completely fixated on his eyes- completely covered in bandages tied tightly behind his head, scarred flesh peeking out from the edges. The sight of the blind Jedi gave off an aura of foreignness intermixed with pity. She was well aware of how through the Force a Jedi could see without their eyes, she herself had been done it since some of her earliest training exercises in the temple. However, that had always been for only a few minutes at a time in a familiar environment. She had even prided herself on having a talent for the skill, just as she had just been exploring her surroundings through the Force before he arrived, but even that had only been for a few moments. She couldn't comprehend trying to sense her way through a dense crowd only using the Force, not to mention any more pressing or challenging tasks.

'Padawan Calia.' Master Drallig's sudden voice shocked her back into the present, she realized she had been staring rudely at the strange jedi. He continued, 'I'd like to introduce you to you new master, Jedi Knight Richar Arten.'

The new master and apprentice just _looked_ at one another. Calia could feel tension creep up her spine as the bandaged eyes seemed to pierce her. Though she supposed she didn't really have any idea what he was actually looking at. He crossed his arms, spit a thick glob of phlegm on the platform beside him, before and staring off away from her and Master Drallig, flatly announcing 'I don't have time for this.'

'I don't have time for this,' Arten repeated himself, his anger growing, almost spitting the words just as he had spit on to the platform. 'You spoofed the emergency beacon just to pawn this kid off on me?!' Arten's fury continued growing and expanding from deep in his chest. He recognized Drallig's furrowed brow barely containing his own outrage. Without taking his eyes off Arten he ordered the girl, 'Padawan Rayyah, please step back into the speeder and close the doors.' Meekly the girl did as she was commanded.

'I guess the Troll doesn't want the kid to hear him chew out her new "master,"' Arten sarcastically quipped at the temple guard.

Pain.

Arten's perception was swimming with pain as he staggered back, hit so hard and so fast even his Jedi honed reflexes failed to react in time. His cheek ached as he instinctively held his hand over it as it began to swell. He sensed out for the Troll who was cradling bloodied knuckles in one hand, calmly waiting for Arten to regain his composure. He was completely dumbfounded, for a Jedi Master _punching_ anyone, not to mention another Jedi was- well, unimaginable.

'Knight Arten,' Drallig paused releasing a heavy tired breathe, 'As head of the Order's Jedi Sentinels, I am responsible for you and your conduct. Not only that, as a Jedi you and your actions reflect on the entire Order. I'm sure you know better than most that most beings will scarcely see a Jedi once in a lifetime, if at all, and it has come to the council's attention you have not been' he trailed of carefully considering his words, 'living by the Jedi Code. We've received reports and complaints that your methods are not becoming of a Jedi Knight.'

'What does the council know?' Arten interrupted matter-of-factly. 'I'm sure a _Jedi Master_ ,' emphasizing the title sarcastically, 'taking a swing at another Jedi is exactly how the Order wants to present itself.' Arten spread his arms out gesturing towards the small crowd which had already begun to form around the confrontation.

Arten could feel the seething anger coming off the Troll, and he was sure most beings wouldn't need the Force to see that. Though true to his nature as a Jedi, in a few moments a calm emotionless serenity returned to his aura.

Ignoring the crowd of beings he continued, 'As I was saying, The council acknowledges the good you have done here on the underlevels, but it can no longer tolerate your methods. Intimidation, violence, blackmail; all this must stop. Additionally, the council has decided you have been avoiding your duties to the Order which has given you everything for too long. It is time you give something back. You will take on this learner. You will train her to the best of your ability in the ways of the Force. You will stop your inappropriate behavior. And if you do not, expect to see me again with a complement of Temple Guard to return you to the temple by force if necessary. Is that understood?'

Arten was shocked before, but this edict sent him sprawling more than the Jedi Master's fist had. He knew the Jedi hadn't approved of his methods, but with his own little corner of the underlevels so far below the temple's gaze, he was amazed they had taken the time to notice him. Of course the only time they cared to look under their own feet was when one of their own was "misbehaving;" hurting their reputation.

Arten composed himself, crossing his arms over his chest again. He answered with only one word.

'Fine.'

'I am glad we have an understanding.' Drallig then turned toward the parked speeder where the girl had been watching intently. She had been told to hide away inside to protect her first impressions of her master, but Arten figured she had probably heard every word. Without any command necessary the girl opened the door and stepped out. She anxiously stood behind Drallig, as if she was trying hide behind the Jedi Master. With a gesture and a whispered word from the Troll, she stepped forward and bowed formally presenting herself to him with all the pomp and ceremony of a typical Jedi, 'My name is Padawan Calia Rayyah. It is my pleasure to meet you.'

Arms still crossed, Arten sighed and responded 'Richar Arten. Let's go.' He turned on his heel without even looking to see if she was following. 'How could the council assign me a Padawan, I'm not some babysitter, the kid would just slow me down,' he thought to himself as he stomped and shoved his way through the crowd back towards his speeder. He swung the door of up then back down as he stepped in, powering back up again. He was about to take-off again when he remembered the girl, he hadn't noticed, but she didn't make it to the the speeder.

'Great already slowing me down,' he thought out loud.

He stepped back out of the speeder, and concentrated his thoughts through the Force searching for the girl. The search would be easy enough, another Jedi would stick out in the Force like a- well a Jedi in a crowd of beings. She was moving farther and farther away from him, swept up by the crowd. He'd had to scoop her up from the flood before someone nicks her lightsaber off her or something. He moved after her, and quickly swept through the mass of beings, a skill he was more than practiced in. The girl was panicked, her eyes scanning frantically all around her, except of course in the direction of the hand that reached out and grabbed her by the arm. She yelped in surprise and fear before she noticed it was Arten who began dragging her back towards the speeder.

'I didn't think I'd have to tell you not to get lost,' he chastised the girl while dragging her by the arm back towards the speeder. He opened the door for her and waited for her to sit down before moving back to the pilot's seat. Now with his Padawan in tow, he powered up the engines again directing the speeder into the skylanes.


	5. Wait Outside

‘Wait outside,’ Calia’s new master ordered abruptly. 

‘Outside?’ She looked around the dingy, dirty alley, pulling her robes tighter to her chest. In just a few hours on the underlevels she felt dirtier than she had ever felt in a lifetime up in the Jedi Temple. 'By myself?’ she asked, glancing to the large Merguntan bouncer, with his hunched stance, large body (even for his species), blue scaly skin, and the fish like eyes set on either side of his wide head. She looked back to her Master, pleading, but despite being human, she saw a face that may have been just as alien as the bouncer’s; the bandages he kept wrapped around his ruined eyes just barely visible under the shadows of his drawn hood. 

‘You’ll be safe with Mel. Besides, you need to start to learn how to take care of yourself.’ He turned towards the door of the old decaying building,  _ The Sarlaac Pit _ , read the holo-sign hovering just over head. He nodded to the Merguntan, Mel he had called him, and reached for the door control, then paused. He tilted his head just the slightest amount, he had yet to look in her direction as he spoke to her, and warned, ‘No matter what you hear, not matter what you think. Stay. Right. Here.’ Accentuating each word of his warning with a harsh gravity that sent shivers crawling up her spine. Without another thought towards her, he tapped the controls, a flood of smoke and other rank smells rushed out to curl Calia’s nose, before he disappeared into the dank light.

Her Master had parked the speeder along a quiet street and began leading her through what felt like a maze of streets, her feet aching and constantly short of breath as she struggled to keep with his determined gait. He’d stop at some seemingly random location, talk to some being, or maybe just leave again without saying or doing anything. She had no idea what he was doing or where they were going, and the not knowing only further set he nerves on edge. Now he had abandoned her in a strange place.

Left alone, for what felt like the first time ever, Calia pressed herself against the wall far away from the strange alien, trying to pull her robe even tighter to warm herself against the chilly evening air. The temperature controls on Coruscant’s surface were precise and varied, comfortably cool in the evenings and warm during the day, but down here the climate seemed to vary from street to street, one alley sweltering hot, and the next so cold she could see her breath. Outside this bar, or club, or whatever it was; confused, scared, and filthy she wondered if today had just been a bad dream. She fell back on to her haunches, overcome with worry and fear but still too disgusted by filth to let herself collapse completely. 

_Remember, you are a Jedi. _

_ There is no emotion there is peace _

_ There is no ignorance, there is knowledge _

_ There is no passion there is- _

She tried to empty herself, to let the Force flow through her like she had her for as long as she could remember, to remind herself that she only lived as the Force willed it, but she could not. The fear and isolation she felt in this cold dark place, so far from the only home she had ever known, the anger and frustration towards her cold distant “master,” and the hate. Hate towards the Jedi for playing such a cruel joke on her; a lifetime being told to pursue her passion, then pulling her dreams from under her. This whirlpool of emotions, swirling and spinning around her, more powerful than anything she could remember ever feeling, threatened to overwhelm her. 

_ How could this be happening? _

_ How could this be happening? _

Calia alone, outside where her master had left her, kept asking herself the same question over and over again. 

_ How could this be happening?! _

_ How could- _

‘Hello.’ Spoke a gruff, guttural voice in Basic accented with a thick alien pronunciation. She looked up and saw the Merguntan with his wide head slightly turned towards her. ‘The Jedi typically doesn’t have any company along?’ Calia could feel heat around her eyes, and reached up to wipe tears away with the sleeve of her robe. Whether he was curious or just trying to be kind she was not sure, but she felt embarrassed to be seen in that state her on first day as a Padawan. 

Gathering up her voice, despite how swollen and blocked up her throat felt, she tried to answer as authoritatively as possible, ‘I am Master Arten’s new Padawan.’

The Merguntan tilted his head slightly to one side, in what must have been the equivalent of a raised eyebrow. ‘Hmmp’ he snorted sharply from his wide set nostrils. ‘Never seen Master-Jedi travel with anyone. Who are you?'

Calia, standing up, wondered if he was new to Coruscant or if all the beings on the lower levels had such thick accents before she answered, ‘My name is Calia Rayyah, I am supposed to be his Padawan, supposed to learn from him- I mean.'

Mel snorted again, ‘Never took him to be the type to want,’ he paused again, the unfamiliar word, ‘a student- a student to be following him around. Always the lonesome type I thought.’

Calia chuckled, ‘Neither of us were exactly happy. Jedi Knights normally get to choose who and when they take on a Padawan, but that has changed since the war. I guess it was different for him...’ she trailed off. She took a deep breathe and sighed, spilling the mixed up emotions of the day onto this strange being, ‘I was supposed to be a diplomat, a negotiator, traveling on a starship to faraway planets, using the Force to bring people together.’ She could feel the frustration of all her failed expectations bubbling up from deep in her guts, ‘Now I’m just stuck down here in this, Karking hole! With a master who is a part of some order, Sentinels or something, I barely remember! The whole thing has to be some kind of joke!’ Calia could feel herself shaking, she couldn’t remember ever being this angry. It had always been so easy to remember her meditations and control her emotions high up in the Jedi Temple. 

The Merguntan didn’t respond, or even acknowledge her outburst at first. His lips seemed to curl back in a wide smile, ‘You remind me of my daughter during her adolescence, I don’t know when you humans are adolescent though.’ Calia hadn’t even considered that this rough looking alien bouncer could have been a father. ‘She was always yelling about unfair the galaxy is, how I would doing things just because I wanted to hurt her, how I treated her like a tadling still.’ He snorted to himself, his large nostrils flexing again, ‘I suppose all adolescents really are the same, she never trusted my advice or rules either. I was right though- Well, most of the time. She did thanking me once she was matured. Maybe give Master-Jedi a chance? You may learn more than you realize.’

Calia stood up, smiling as she wiped the fresh tears from her most recent outburst off her flushed cheeks. She supposed that elders lecturing youth was also universal among all beings, and she took a certain comfort from that. Taking a deep breath, she responded to Mel saying ‘I guess I can try,’ stubbornly unwilling to admit an elder may have actually been correct. He tilted his head back towards her, followed by another snorting chuckle.

‘He may be rough, and causes no end of problem for me at my work, always starting trouble. And breaking things! So many things broken! But he is a good being. I can tell it. Pays for his damages, asks how me and my children are, and he has even helped me with trouble more than once; a flash of his saber enough to calm many angry beings.’

‘Really?’ Calia couldn’t help but ask. So far, Master Arten had just been rude, coarse, and difficult. She couldn’t imagine him sharing such pleasantries with anyone.

‘Really, yes. I know Master Arten often goes to my eldest daughter at her clinic when he is hurt. Pays her generously, and I know if trouble comes to her, he can be called for help.’ He stopped, recalling the words in Basic. ‘Master Arten does much for the beings of this district: keeps the swoop gangs out, makes sure the death sticks away from the younglings, even looks out for the beings when they have no credits, finding them food and homes.’

He paused again, turning to look Calia in the eyes. She couldn’t help but instinctively reach out through the Force to him, she saw deep gratitude, and respect. Respect that wasn’t just some transactional exchange between the old bouncer and Jedi, but an appreciation of not just what he did for him, but for his dedication to protecting others. For shining a light in a dark place. 

Calia was suddenly aware of the soft humming of the holo-sign, the blue and purples of the holo-display flickering off Mel’s form. She smiled asking, ‘So Mel, where does the name Sarlaac Pit come from?’ Mel swung his wide head back in a loud, bellowing laugh from deep in his protruding belly. Through his amusement he managed to say, ‘A humorous story from my misguided youth, one not appropriate for an adolescent.’ He stopped, lost in reflection, contemplation, or both before continuing, ‘Ahh! You are not so young! It all began after I found a job transporting ore from one of Sullust’s moons…’

Arten scanned the small but crowded bar through the Force. Despite Mel’s best efforts, the little joint often attracted a less than reputable clientele looking for a place far enough out of the way to avoid The Underworld Police, but not unusual for beings to meet and talk. Arten instantly felt through the crowd of beings who were just there to enjoy a drink after a long day, those drinking themselves into an early trip to the local incinerator, and beings looking to avoid attention. He found who he was looking for, Skeever. Arten knew that he must have had something on the Republic weapons he had run into earlier. He always had something.

Arten was aware that since the moment he stepped through the door all eyes had turned on him. The regulars would be holding their drinks close, ready to move for cover if things went sour, while the new faces unfamiliar with how the Jedi’s visits to the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ often ended just gawked at the mysterious figure. He stood in the doorway momentarily, knowing the dramatic entrance would only make his  _ conversation _ with Skeever that much easier. He could feel the thin set Devaronian, who looked nearly human if not for the two large horns that protruded from the top of his head and a mouth full of sharp incisors, was already looking for the door, metaphorically and literally. 

Though Arten obviously didn’t need to, as he could see everything at once through the Force, he turned his head towards Skeever, his shadowed face and bandaged eyes boring into him; making sure Skeever knew it was him the _ Jedi _ was here for. He methodically stalked towards the skittish Devaronian like a prowling Nexu on the hunt. Stopping behind the empty chair at Skeever’s table. He asked sarcastically, ‘Is this seat available?’ Arten didn’t wait for a response before sitting down across from the crook. Unfortunately for Skeever, he had decided to was sitting at one of the smaller tables, small enough for Arten to easily reach across for him before he’d have time to react if he tried to run. Granted, he could just as easily pull him off his feet using the Force, but found that the more familiar threat of traditional, physical intimidation was usually more effective.

Arten didn’t say anything, just continued to  _ stare  _ at Skeever. He was well aware at how uncomfortable his scarred and bandaged eyes made others, particularly how they knew he could see them despite his clearly blinded eyes.

‘Skeever. I need to ask you a few things’ Arten simply commanded. 

Skeever didn’t respond, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, Arten could sense he was already beginning to sweat. The Devaronian was the pettiest of all the petty criminals he had ever met, and as a Jedi Sentinel working on the Underlevels of Coruscant he had met a lot. He had a habit of trying to get himself involved in any scheme or hustle he could, though most of the smarter criminals knew better than to let him do anything more than run errands. As a result, he never knew more than surface information, but was usually a reliable place to get started. Ironically, his stupidity and carelessness made him more useful at large than behind a prison particle shield.

‘I’m not saying nothing to you Jedi.’ Skeever said, his voice dripping with resentment.

‘Skeever, Skeever, Skeever, the two of us go through this same dance every time. You say you don’t know what I’m talking about, you try to act tough when I press you, but I still get the information I need. Every. Single. Time. Why not just save both of us the effort?’

Skeever twisted in his seat farther from Arten, who leaned forward over the table to subtly remind him he wouldn’t be going anywhere just yet. Mel’s service droid rolled over on her single wheel asking ‘Can I get yous gentlemen anything?’ Arten continued staring at Skeever but gestured towards the droid saying ‘I’ll have a fresh Caf, and maybe add a taste of Mel’s homebrew, and get my friend here a Felucian Brandy, his favorite.’ 

‘Comin right up mister.’ The droid enthusiastically responded before zipping off. Arten waited, letting the jumpy criminal squirm in his seat. In the meantime he felt through the Force to get a better idea of what else he’d have to deal with if  _ negotiations _ with Skeever went about how he expected them to go. He could feel quite a few beings with blasters, and at least seven who had the resolve to use them. Being alone and outnumbered in a cramped bar might be their chance to get rid of the Jedi once and for all if they recognized the opportunity. If they were willing to work together, and wanted to push their luck it might be trouble, but he needed any information he could get, as fast as possible.

‘So, I’m sure you’ve heard that some serious hardware is starting to make its way down to the level. Right?’ Skeever just continued shifting in his seat uncomfortably, edging towards the backdoor. ‘I’m sure you’ve known about it for a while, I only found out a few hours ago. Always a bit late to the party, unlike you,’ he postulated, gesturing towards the Devaroninan. ‘High-grade- no military grade equipment too. Put a bolt clean through most civilian armor at a hundred yards, not to mention what it’d do to some poor shluck without any protection.’

The service droid pulled up with their drinks. Arten didn’t flinch or move in the slightest as he took the mug and saucer of caf off the droid's hands using only the Force. It gently floated through the air to come to a rest in front of him as the droid placed the brandy in front of Skeever. A casual display of his  _ powers _ could do wonders.

‘Help yourself,’ Arten offered, ‘might be the last taste you get for a while.’ He smiled at the growing scowl etching its way across Skeever’s features. ‘Who knows?’ Arten asked as he absentmindedly stirred the black caffeinated drink with a small spoon he held in mid-air with the Force, ‘maybe one of the those blaster bolts might end up blowing your brain out of your head. Help me stop the flow by giving up your provider and we can avoid that.’ Arten chuckled, ‘Oh wait, nevermind, I guess you don’t have anything to worry about, nothing there to get blown out.’

White-knuckled, Skeever took his glass and downed the entire thing in one ungodly swig. Arten was almost impressed, but the Devaronian’s second liver made the feat slightly less impressive. ‘Thanks for the drink, Jedi-’ the last word dripping in revulsion as he spit it out, ‘but I don’t know what you’re talkin about. Now I got business to discuss.’ Arten could feel Skeever’s barely contained hate and loathing radiating off him. Good, he wanted him angry. He’d either accidentally let something slip or he’d give the Jedi Sentinel a reason to get rougher. He felt a small twinge of sadness and regret when he recalled how things gone had for Skeever.

Arten turned away from the petty crook, holding his cup in one hand as he took a long sip, the splash of Mel’s famous homebrew burning its way down his throat . He sighed again  _ staring  _ into the black void of the steaming caf, though he was actually looking intensely into Skeever through the Force. He announced plainly, ‘I’m going to get the information I need Skeever.’ He let his words hang in the air between them, let their gravity sink in.

Skeever smashed his glass back down on the table in anger and frustration. Faster than most eyes could even track, Arten slipped the beskar steel knife from its sheath on his chest. Skeever heard the sound of the thud as the tip of the knife slammed down, before he felt the pain. The pain came as he realized the knife pierced clean through his hand, pinning it to the table, instinctively crying out in panic and surprise .

Arten held the knife firmly in place as Skeever collapsed, whimpering and falling to his knees, knocking his chair away. In the same moment, the joint erupted in movement. All the eyes that had been on the Jedi Knight since he had stepped through the door, where now either moving to safety, or staring at him down the sights of a blaster pistol.

Still calmly holding his caf in one hand, he sipped at the bitter drink. Arten felt his way through the room again. Four beings with holdout blasters trained on him, the rest apparently didn’t want to risk it. Start by pulling two of their blasters away with the Force, then deflect the other two shots before jumping using a hawk-bat swoop to close the distance between him and the shooter over his right shoulder. Then continue working his way through the room using his enhanced speed to get in close, making the blasters useless, until they all are either incapacitated or surrender. 

He guessed it would take him less than ten seconds. 

Arten sighed as he finished off his caf, before carefully placing the cup back on its saucer. Still holding the knife in place with his other hand, pushing it deeper into the table despite Skeever’s continued whimpering, he said ‘Skeever, you must have known I wouldn’t be leaving without you telling me everything. You know that. Why do you always have to make it difficult?’

Gritting his teeth through the pain, all Skeever managed to bark out in response was ‘Get spaced Jedi!’

Arten casually unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Suddenly, his thoughts turned to what his new Padawan would think. After no more than two hours of their first meeting, here he was in a stand-off, surrounded by underlevel criminals. Strange, that in this quiet moment just before chaos erupts his mind wandered to the girl, his Padawan, Calia. He still felt a Padawan, especially one so rooted in the Order’s dogma, would only slow him down, but he regretted how rude he had been. She must have felt even more shocked by the arrangement. At least he was still in his element. He supposed he could have been kinder; decided he would be kinder. After spending so much time either alone or among people like Skeever, it would be good to have someone else around. Just as life was hard down on Coruscant’s Underlevels, he knew he'd have to be hard on her too. Force or no Force, being raised far away in the temple, she’d be completely unprepared for how most of the galaxy lived. Just like he was.

Maybe he did have more to teach her than he imagined, maybe that was the point. He ignited his lightsaber.

Calia had sat on a seemingly discarded palette, enraptured by Mel’s story so unlike the usual grand and historical accounts of her education in the temple. His tale, full of accidents, mistakes, and even simple incompetence, made the Galaxy seem so much more chaotic than she had imagined it to be. She had never considered just how much a being’s life was driven, not by conscious decisions and plans, but chance and happenstance. 

‘So Tuk takes the Jawa by the back of his robes, be lifting him up- over his head completely mind you, Jawas are quite small-’ Mel went on as he acted out the actions of one of his rouge mercenary buddies during  _ negotiations _ with the local populace of a desert planet.

‘Wait,’ Calia asked, ‘I thought the Jawa’s deal sounded pretty reasonable. Why did he get so angry so fast?”

‘Tuk was not one to be negotiating on buying his own droid’s parts back. I barely convince him to pay for them at all. He loved his droid, treated it like his own blood. Leaves it to guard our dewbacks, large lizards used as mounts to cross the desert, and we return we find dewbacks are fine, but droid is the one in pieces,’ capping off his aside with another hearty chortle.

Calia couldn’t help but laugh too.

_ Crash! _

The sound of a broken glass and a cry of pain exploded through the quiet alley from inside Mel’s club. Mel’s expression glassed over into one of deadly seriousness, glancing back towards the sealed door.

Calia could feel a pit in her throat, and a prickling heat rising up her cheeks. Feeling through the Force didn’t even occur to her. After a tense moment Mel turned back to Calia and said, ‘Often patrons with too much drink fall and break glasses. May be nothing.’ 

The moments seem to drag on and on, the tightness in her throat was soon joined by a heavy weight down her stomach. Silence...and then she began to hear a voice that sounded like her master, not yelling, but speaking forcefully- very forcefully, as another being groaned and whimpered in pain. 

_ Was he torturing someone in there? Master Drallig had warned her... _

Time seemed transfixed in place, Calia’s began to sense into the club through the Force, but her emotions, which she had trained for so long to keep in check, were running wild. All she felt were the thoughts and feelings of beings in the room, torrents of anger, fear, and pain flying past and through her. There was one being who stood out in the Force, their spirit shining with determination, overshadowing all others. 

She heard a sound, so familiar but which now carried terrible implications. 

A lightsaber igniting. 

An instant later she heard the sound of blaster fire, crashing, movement, and even more cries of pain. She was momentarily frozen, the heat fled from her face, her vision narrowing, the pit in her stomach formed into a void as deep and heavy as the galactic core, threatening to swallow her. She couldn’t think or act. Fumbling, she finally tried reaching for her own lightsaber, completely forgetting the hours upon hours of practice. She held it in front of her awkwardly, struggling to press the ignition switch with her shaking hands, before she could her vision focused on Mel, the old Merguntan’s thick stocky hand held out to caution her, a serious expression seemingly etched across the stone-cold features of someone experienced with violence. Calia’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Mel had probably left some of the more visceral details out of his story for her sake.

In what felt much longer than the few seconds it took, the crashing, blaster fire, and cries stopped, replaced by an eerie silence broken by the occasional low moan or cry. She could vaguely make out the sound of her master speaking again, and another voice replying in pained barks. After what could have been a few seconds or minutes, time still felt frozen, the door to the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ slid open, and her master stepped out completely unscathed. The sounds of pained beings grew louder as they drifted through the open doorway. 

Mel stepped to one side letting her master pass, as he began saying without turning to look at the bouncer, ‘Sorry for the trouble, just send the invoice to the temple like always. You have four beings in there who need a medevac but aren’t critical. Republic military police would be fastest, but there would be paperwork, your daughter’s clinic might be easier. He turned to Calia now, “looking” past her as he spoke ‘I’m- ugh, sorry about that. Must have been frightening,’ gesturing towards Calia’s unignighted lightsaber still in her hands, ‘but was nothing I couldn’t handle. We need to get going. I um-’ he seemed to be grappling with the words unused to having to speak them out loud ‘I mean, we have a lead on smuggled weapons and need to follow up on it right away.”

This was the first time he cared to explain what the two of them were doing. ‘Oh, ok-’ Calia stuttered as she remembered to say ‘I mean, yes Master.’ 

‘It’s fine you can just call me Arten. I think it’s clear I’m not one for formalities.’ 

Calia saw Mel over Master Arten’s shoulder, grinning, his wisdom proven true. She could not help but stifle a laugh. 

Master Arten noticed and said, ‘Glad to see you and Mel getting along, but let’s get going,’ turning on his heel to step away. He stopped mid step, Calia almost walking into him, and said over his shoulder to Mel, ‘Go ahead and give Skeever the whole bottle of that disgusting brandy, on me. And keep an eye on him for me.’ Mel simply nodded in understanding as Master Arten continued out of the alley, his cloak unfurling behind him. 

Calia began walking in step behind him, but turned to wave goodbye to Mel, who raised his palm in response smiling, before turning back inside to assess the damage to his establishment. She was still in shock about everything that had happened. Disappointed to be knocked off her expected path. Anxiety about her new master, so coarse and without the dignity she had come to expect from Jedi Knights and Masters. Frightened and shocked to see the poverty and violence that was everyday life for most of Coruscant’s beings. Though she saw there were glimmers in the darkness. Like a kind spirit in an old bouncer. Master Arten even seemed to be be warming up to her somewhat. Mel seemed to place his complete trust in him. She still was not so sure, but whether she liked it or not this was the path the Force had laid out to her.


	6. Hands-off Training: Part 1

Calia could feel a line of sweat slowly flow down the back of her neck as she tightened her grip on the ignited lightsaber, its blue blade extending out nearly half a meter. She shifted her stance, slowly moving her left foot back. She twisted and shifted the lightsaber in her hands, slowly building into a continuous figure eight motion, from one side of her body to the other. This movement was the fundamental technique for Form III of lightsaber combat, Soresu. Calia had learned the movement years ago, but only passingly. Her Ma- erm Arten, had pressed the importance of mastering Form III, and its emphasis on defense against projectile weapons if she was going to be his Padawan. According to him, while investigating crime and smuggling deep in the underlevels of Coruscant, beings trying to blast you was a regular occurrence, and Form III’s ability to deflect, and with practice even reflect, blaster bolts from multiple shooters at once would prove absolutely vital.

Like many apprentices in the Jedi Temple, Calia had previously chosen to focus on Form VI, Niman. Of course, Master Arten had laughed out loud when she had told him this. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, most Jedi who don’t plan on fighting study Niman; the Generalist’s Form.’ It was a form based on being “ok,” at everything while not excelling at anything, and complemented by using the Force directly in combat. Calia couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, aware that by many Jedi’s standards her skills with a lightsaber were sorely lacking. He had paused, suddenly aware of how he had unintentionally shamed the young Padawan again, ‘Sorry. Just, if you’re going to be working with me we’ll need to improve your skills, together.’ He went on to say how Niman’s focus on using the Force offensively would be effective, most beings would be immediately put off guard by seeing the Force in action firsthand, but in his words, ‘we need to start with keeping you alive long enough to use it.’

Which is why Calia was standing in the nearly empty room, wearing a heavy armored vest, which at a glance may have looked like looked like normal clothing but had energy resistant fibers interwoven throughout, a thick blindfold which completely obscured her vision, and a floating spherical remote taking shots at her with a stun blaster, three early gifts from Master Arten. She remembered doing similar drills with remotes as a youngling, but those remotes soared lazily through the air with stunners which only delivered a small inconvenient zap. This remote- oh this remote! Calia was convinced the thing was intentionally programmed to be evil. It zipped and jerked, started and stopped without warning, and it’s stunner shots left her legs and arms sore and numb for hours. Her master had explained to her that she had to train the same way she expected to fight, forcing her to wear the heavy armor, and only relying on feeling the attacks through the Force, since blasters were too fast for her mundane senses to track anyway. 

Calia had to admit, her Master had a point, she thought as she swept her front leg farther forward, speeding up the continuously spinning lightsaber, anticipating the next shot. It had been years since she had done any lightsaber drills blindfolded, but was proud of how fast she found her skills not only returning, but improving. She never realized how she would instinctively try follow the stun blasts with her vision while practicing in the temple, but her eyes could never be faster than the Force guiding her actions. She felt the remote zip to her left, stop- move back in the opposite direction- stop, hover in place for a split second. Feeling for the remote was especially challenging too, as any living thing, sentient beings, animals, even plants, radiated with the Force, but objects like the remote, machinery, or droids, didn’t To feel them a Jedi had to search for an  _ absence _ in the ambient Force that coursed through space.

The remote zoomed up over her head suddenly, aiming a shot between her shoulder blades. Calia twisted her body bringing the saber up, deflecting the shot aside, but just as she did the remote was already zipping around her left side, seemingly trying to take her off-guard. Her armored vest would have absorbed a stunner bolt to her back, but she was still proud to have caught such a difficult shot. Her pride didn’t last long though, as the remote slowed briefly, before shifting further towards her left. Calia was preparing for the next attack, but suddenly it began to fly down towards her legs then back to her right, but Calia was ready for it, shifting her spinning lightsaber to protect her right side. She was too hasty, the remote had only momentarily jerked towards her right side before stopping suddenly in place, firing upwards into her left arm. She winced, her stunned arm tightening in a painful spasm, nearly dropping her lightsaber as her reflexes naturally wanted to cradle the pained limb. (Holding on to your lightsaber for dear life was one of the temple’s earliest drills. A super-heated blade that could cut through anything- even with an automatic shutoff, could easily shear off limbs if dropped carelessly).

Carefully, Calia switcher her lightsaber off, as the remote entered standby mode, floating harmlessly having successfully hit its target. She couldn’t help but remember how one of her old lightsaber instructors had told her, ‘pain is an excellent teacher,’ though that had only come  _ after  _ a hearty does of “learning.” The sharp pain in her arm was slowly being replaced by an aching numbness, as the energy of the stunner did it’s intended work. Normally, she would try to training despite the pained limb, her Master had told her the more she hinders herself while training, the better she’ll preform when at her best, but it had already been three hours, and all her limbs felt ready to fall off between the physical exertion and stunner blasts. 

She reached up to shut off the remote, before carefully placing it in its energy cradle on the edge of the ‘training area.’ The room had at one point been a fairly spacious living room according to her Master. He had removed all the furniture, only leaving the wall-mounted holo-projector to furnish it into his makeshift training area. The entire building, which he referred to as a “safehouse,” had been repurposed in a similar way. After that first night climaxing in the  _ scuffle _ at the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ , Master Arten had lead her to the apartment building, which from the outside looked exactly like any other building. However, the five military-grade maglocks on the front door was the first hint that there was something unusual about the complex. Calia really didn’t have much of a real frame of reference, as Jedi mostly lived a very humble, austere lifestyle in the temple, but the spacious aesthetically pleasing decor, multiple bedroom, kitchen equipped with a full service cooking droid, data and tracking center, and speeder garage large enough for multiple vehicles, seemed luxurious by any standard. Master Arten told her how the building was being used as a hidden headquarters for a smuggling operation, and since the group had paid for and modified the building using illicit credits, it would be locked up in, according to him, a ‘bureaucratic black hole for decades.’ In the meantime, he had bee using it as one of several safehouses. Shortly after arriving, Master Arten had escorted Calia back to the temple in his personal speeder so she could pick up additional robes and her scant personal belongings, and from that point onwards, had spent virtually all her time in her new makeshift home.

Calia had had woken up early, as she had almost everyday of her life (getting used to having no natural sunlight had taken quite a bit of getting used to however), and started with her lightsaber training. Her physical training finished, she was ready to continue her day, she walked into the kitchen, situated on the ground floor just next to the training area, and asked the cooking droid, M8-T, to prepare a simple breakfast of synth-oats and and boiled eggs. 

Calia slipped off her armored vest, carefully folding and placing it down on the counter opposite where M8-T had already set to work preparing the simple dish. In the time since becoming a Padawan found herself getting thinner and leaner from the significantly more intense training regime and simple diet, which was only further intensified by the added exertion from the weight of her armored vest. Calia then reached behind her head to remove the blindfold, brushing the sweat that had built up around the edges of her brow. She had almost forgotten she had been wearing it, which she supposed was the point. Calia found herself growing more and more comfortable relying only on the Force to perceive her surroundings.

Still, she considered how some of her comfort forgoing her eyesight was just due to her growing familiarity with her new home. Contrary to how much of a shock her first day as a Padawan was, since then she had fallen in a steady rhythm day by day for, how long was it now? Just over a standard month, she quickly calculated. She would rise early, more often than not on her own, then would start her day with lightsaber practice. Oftentimes, Master Arten would just be arriving back at the safehouse after spending the entire night out, catching Calia in the middle of her training. Without a single word or a seconds rest he would immediately join her, offering critiques and advice, answering any question, and even sparring with her. Considering he was often gone all through the night, sometimes not even returning at all for a few days, she appreciated his commitment to personally training with her.


	7. Hands-off Training: Part 2

Calia recalled the first time the two had sparred together. She had stepped into the improvised training area nervously. In the temple, sparring matches with actual lightsabers was expressly forbidden and rigorously enforced. One small slip could result in a severed hand, leg, and even death; apprentices had to make due with low power training sabers, that only left you with a burn or bruise. Clearly, Master Arten could feel her nerves washing of her like a sheets of rain, she quickly come to realize that while his...injury made some activities, like reading datapad and computer screens for instance, more difficult, it left him incredibly tuned to a being’s emotions. 

As she stepped forward, cradling her unignited lightsaber loosely, as if she was afraid it would spring to life on its own accord, he said, ‘Kid, relax. I’ll make sure nobody gets hurt,’ punctuating his statement by igniting his own ligthsaber with a spinning flourish, holding it firmly in both hands, standing sideways towards her in the aggressive starting stance for form V, Artaru. Calia was slightly taken aback, partly by how he seeming planned to use Ataru (a form known for Force-enhanced acrobatics despite being in such an enclosed space), and his ligthsaber’s yellow color. Virtually every lightsaber she had ever seen was either green, or blue like her own saber. She had obviously heard of yellow, and even orange, purple, or the red of a Sith saber, but seeing it in person was another thing. 

_ Focus! This is your first sparring session with your new master _ . 

She activated her lightsaber, the blue light of its blade contesting her master’s yellow blade to fill the room. Master Arten smirked, as Calia held her blade high in one hand, her other hand held towards him, as she extended her dominant foot back and the other forward. She had only began practicing Soresu from his instructions for a few days by this point, but felt her skills had quickly returned. Momentarily, she’d find that either she had overestimated how much she had remembered, or her initial instructions were, woefully, inadequate. 

Calia smiled reminiscing on the sparing match, in only blink he had crossed the training area, and slipped his entire body in her guard before she had a chance to react. In one quick smooth motion he had grabbed her weapon hand, and using his hip as a fulcrum, pulled her off her feet, upside down through the air, to land hard on her back on. Stunned and with the wind knocked out of her chest, she looked up to see her Master  _ twirling _ her saber casually in one hand, as he arrogantly  _ strolled  _ back to his starting position. 

Calia could feel her face blossoming with flushed skin, her chest and throat constricting, her hands shaking. She wasn’t aware of it at the time, but she was furious. He tells her to train in a form she hadn’t studied in years, then blindsides her a throw, leaving her short of breath on the ground. She had spent hours practicing- On her own!- just trying to get the starting stance correct. Now he was just standing there, with  _ her _ lightsaber in his hands! Expecting what? His Padawan to  _ meekly  _ and  _ respectfully _ ask for it back? 

No.

She held out one hand towards him, calling on the Force in her anger. Her lightsaber was ripped from Master Arten’s grip, an expression of genuine shock had smeared itself across his features. She smiled realizing he was the one taken off-guard now, never expecting so forceful a move from his Padawan. She caught her weapon in her outstretched hand, and charged towards her master swinging wildly at him. 

Despite his earlier surprise, he was more than ready. All he had to do was simply lean back at the waist slightly, away from her haphazard strike, and gripping her collar in his free hand to pull her forward. Her momentum continued carrying her until she stumbled, trying to catch her fall on her arms, but only falling hard on her elbow. Incensed again, Calia began to struggle back to her feet until she realized Master Arten was sat down on the floor opposite her.

‘Sorry Calia, I had to make a point,’ he said matter-of-factly. Now, once again, she was the one in shock. The arrogance which had set off before was completely gone. Replaced by a cool sincerity. She relaxed, shifting to a comfortable sitting position across from him where she had fallen.

‘You need to learn that, down here,’ he chuckled to himself, ‘maybe everywhere, there’s always more going on than what’s on the surface. Your technique was good though, but your initial stance was a bit off, we’ll work on it in a minute. More importantly, your thoughts, your mindset was too rigid, too focused. When you’re in a fight, and you will be...soon,’ he said, the importance of his words lingering between the two of them. ‘You need to be aware of everything around you. You need to consider your environment, you need to have both a short-term and a long-term plan in mind, you need to think about your opponent’s own mindset,’ gesturing towards her on the floor to punctuate his last point. ‘I knew you’re an inexperienced fighter, and I know how rigid and formulaic the temple’s training can be. So, it would be easy to catch you off guard with unorthodox moves. I also know how much Jedi believe in humility, so a bit of gloating would probably rile you up, make you sloppy.’

Continuing, he told her, ‘When you’re fighting someone, the fight is just as much in your head as it is physical. The whole time you were playing into my  _ game _ , reacting to my actions- great job pulling your saber back by the way, see there that was your initiative, your  _ game _ . Anyway, you never, _ never _ , play your opponents game, and this isn’t just true of a lightsaber duel, or some punks trying to blast you, or whatever. It applies to everything. When you start joining me on my investigations, you need to consider what other beings are thinking, planning, what motivates them. It’s the only chance you have of stopping them before they do something to hurt others, or even hurt themselves, instead of just cleaning up afterwards.’

Calia hadn’t said anything at the time, she was more concerned with just taking in her Master’s first real lesson. Now though, she couldn’t help but think how his words may have been even truer than he intended. She never thought about it in so many words before, but negotiating or debate involved the exact same tactics. Maybe she was more suited for investigations in the underlevels than she had imagined. Since then, when training with Master Arten not only did she continue to try and hone and refine her technique, but always tried to do something different to take him by surprise. Despite this, he always manged to stay one step ahead. Whether it was deflecting her blade with the combat knife strapped to his armor, which her saber should have sheared through cleanly but it had somehow withstood the plasma blade, (he explained he had fought a Mandalorian for it), or using only a tiny push from the Force as she was taking a step to slide her foot across the floor nearly forcing her into a full split, or the time when he switched her lightsaber off mid swing with another minute exertion of the Force (both cases catching her off-guard as most Jedi opted for grand, overpowering displays of the Force). Once, he even pulled the hood of her robes up over her head after locking blades with her. Understanding why he was working so hard to outmaneuver her it didn’t anger her anymore, but encouraged her to find new methods herself.

M8-T turned back towards her with her plate of scrambled eggs and heated synth-oats, not unlike her breakfasts in the temple. After lightsaber practice she would have a late breakfast, usually prepared by the silent cooking droid M8-T. While it was capable of handling all the meal preparation on its own, even buying the food from a local shop, recently Calia had taken to observing the droids four arms whip and zoom at impressive speeds to try and learn how to cook for herself. During her days in the temple occasionally she had been tasked with helping in the kitchens, but that mostly just amounted to cleaning duties. While her early cooking experiments had been unmitigated disasters, the gradually improving results were proving promising.

After she finished her breakfast, Calia would then move on to her studying, Master Arten having supplied her with a seemingly endless number of holos on subjects ranging from local history, gang structure and hierarchy, Coruscant architecture, field medicine and nutritional science for a wide variety of different species, and even holo-novels taking place in the underlevels. She would continue her studying through the day, and if Master Arten was there he’d spend the entire day asleep in a separate room (the upper-level had half a dozen). Then around evening when Calia was settling down for dinner with M8-T, he would pass through, make his usual cup of caf (she rarely saw him without the black caffeinated drink, and never saw him eat anything), they’d exchange a few words over what she had studied, and he’d suggest what new lightsaber technique to try or holo to focus on tomorrow, before he would leave for the night again.

This left Calia each evening with something she never had before, freedom.

At first she tried spending the time meditating on the Force or continuing her studies, but usually found her brain and body was too exhausted to focus. Before long, she began searching the local network from the terminal in her room she inititally reserved for her studies. She’d see news of how the Clone Wars were progressing, but not the static factual information passed to her through the Jedi at the temple, instead she saw the costs of the war: landscapes decimated by battle, hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of refugees from countless planets, and even the occasional snippet of actual battle, clones in their pure white armor charging forward, maybe just behind a robed figure with an ignited lightsaber. It wasn’t all so dire though, Calia also found entertainment vids of all kinds. She had never seen any kind of “entertainment” before, and quickly found herself completely enraptured by them. On more than a few occasions she found herself staying staying up into the early morning hours, needing to watch just one more vid, see just one more big revelation, learn just what had happened between her new heroes. She’d look over at the clock on the desk next to her holo player, and see she was  _ supposed _ to be up training in just an hour or two. Calia would spend the next day feeling miserable, her senses dulled and mood soured by exhaustion, promising this would be the last time. A promise she always broke before long.

Calia was absentmindedly poking at her breakfast, considering how she’d spend the rest of her day. Master Arten still wasn’t back, so she was left to decide for herself what she’d study. Calia considered starting with finishing that holo-novel about the poor orphan on the underlevels,  _ Ogiar Twent _ , who was strangely- what’s the word? Chipper? For an orphan struggling to survive on his own. Then maybe she’d move into something more academic, she did find herself interested in her studies surrounding traditional medicine. With an entire galaxy, and Coruscant as it’s cultural, economic, political, and almost literal geographic center, there was a seemingly endless amount herbs, foods, or even animal products for virtually any ailment. Master Arten had told her that with more advanced medical services stretched far too thin, and many of the underlevel’s resident’s being immigrants or refugees, most beings relied on these types of treatments for all their medical needs.

Later, having showered, changed, and carrying her portable holo-viewer back into the kitchen, as she was in a mood for a change of scenery. Sitting back down, Calia's thoughts briefly drifted towards what drama vid to continue watching after she finished studying when she heard the maglocks on the front entrance unlock. A moment later, Master Arten walked into the kitchen, and Calia did not need the Force to tell he was still groggy and tired as he fumbled through the kitchen preparing a caf himself instead of ordering their service droid to brew it. Calia had noticed he did not seem particularly affectionate towards M8-T, she guessed a walking talking “thing,” that was nearly invisible to him might make him uncomfortable. She had the sudden realization that this may have been why he had not been called to fight in the war despite his combat prowess, he’d be at a serious disadvantage against the Separatist’s, as their military was almost exclusively composed of battle droids.

Regardless, once he finished making his caf he turned towards her, before taking a long, scorching sip from the steaming mug. As he lowered the caf he said to her, without any warning or preamble, ‘Get your gear, you’re coming out with me.’ She was stunned, speechless. ‘Right now,’ he clarified. Calia was, of course, expecting to accompany her Master during his trips into Coruscant’s streets, but so soon? So suddenly? She had so many questions. Master Arten clearly recognized her surprise, but he also saw a hint of excitement from her aura in the Force. Smiling, he playfully coaxed her, ‘I mean right now. Well?’ She was nervous and somewhat uneasy about the sudden change in her daily plans, but just as he had sensed, also excited! Calia jumped from the kitchen stool, and hurried to don her vest, strap her survival belt around her waist, and clip her lightsaber to her side.

As she was getting ready, Master Arten warned her, ‘Make sure you wear your cloak. Remember from your first night how much the temp could can fluctuate street by street? Temperature control down here is spotty at best.’ He sighed as he set his mug down on the counter next to him. ‘About that first night,’ Calia turned towards him, stopping with her cloak in her hands, feeling the seriousness in his words. ‘Just before I picked up the signal from the Troll, I still can’t believe he faked the emergency beacon just to get my attention,’ Calia could hear the annoyance in his tone, but kept her thoughts that had he just maintained his communication with the temple, like he was supposed to, the drastic deception wouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I had just learned that Grand Army of the Republic weapons were beginning to make their way to the underlevels. Brand new, seemingly directly from the manufacturer. Since then, I’ve been finding more and more popping up, and not just here in the 1442. Between putting out my usual fires and trying to get as many of the weapons as I can off the underlevels, I’ve been devoting all my time to trying to find out who’s supplying them. From that fight, the one where I left you outside with Mel, I learned from an informant that someone named,’ he sighed with irritation recollecting the terrible alias, ‘someone named  _ Dak Darkstar _ ,’ recalling the name in a derisive, mocking voice, ‘is, at least, the local supplier. Despite how dumb the alias is, he’s smart. Always works through middlemen, it may cut into his profits, but keeps him out of my sights. I’ve run out of leads, and tonight I was going to hit up my usual local contacts again. I thought this would be your chance to meet them.’

Calia couldn’t wait! While it was unexpected, she was looking forward to finally getting to explore more of the underlevels, to put her training to task. Not to mention, she was so shocked by how much meeting Mel had expanded her horizons, hopefully each being she met tonight could expand her perspective even more.


	8. The Unseen

‘Come on Tuk!’ Master Arten tried coaxing the borderline unconscious elderly Sullustan, his head fallling forward once again, the being’s large jowls and ears making a disturbing, wet slapping sound as they hit the the grimy table. 

Without turning his hooded head, Master Arten shouted back through the empty bar at Mel who was busy behind the counter fiddling with an unseen appliance, ‘Is that caf ready yet?’

‘One minute Master Jedi, Dina is in her recharging cradle, and I am not so familiar with how this caf machine works.’

Calia was just glad she wasn’t asked to wait outside the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ this time.

Master Arten had been at it for almost thirty minutes already, but the Sullustan, Tuk, was clearly in no condition to say anything. He didn’t seem in condition to be doing anything really, besides maybe sleep, and she didn’t think he was doing a particularly good job at that either. Except for a Jedi Knight or Master enjoying an occasional glass of wine with a meal, Calia was almost completely unfamiliar with the effects of alcohol. Despite her lack of knowledge surrounding alcoholic beverages, she knew it wasn’t good to be this intoxicated before it was even midday.

Tuk raised his head up again, and turned to vacantly observe the room with his large, completely black eyes bordered by deep wrinkles. He spoke again, but Calia’s Sullustese wasn’t great, without even taking into account how slurred his speaking was. However, she gathered he said something along the lines of: how good it was to see Master Arten again, how it had been too long, confusion at who Calia was, assuming she was his daughter or niece, again, telling him he had a great-grandson who would be a great match. All with the occasional word of Basic thrown in. It was the third time she had heard it all, and was fairly confident she had the translation down.

Sitting down at the small table, its surface peppered with old stains and dents, she leaned towards Master Arten whispering as Tuk continued rambling, ‘Master, are you sure we can trust anything he has to tell us? I don’t think he even knows where he is right now.’

Master Arten, not bothering to whisper despite how perceptive Tuk’s hearing must have been with his large ears said, ‘Trust me, Ole Tuk might lose himself in the sauce, but I can always rely on him, right Tuk?’

Smack! Tuk’s head was back on the table.

‘Mel we really need that caf over hear!’ Master Arten called back again without turning his head. Speaking to Calia again (the fact he never bothered to look at who he was talking to often made it confusing), ‘We just need to sober him up a bit.’

Calia wasn’t so reassured. ‘Master-’ 

‘I keep telling you, just call me Arten.’

‘Master Arten,’ she corrected herself, he snorted at her stubbornness as she continued asking, ‘What makes you think he’d know anything useful? Aside from the issue of how reliable it might be. If these weapons are so dangerous, and we are trying to find the sellers? Would it not be best to start with the buyers?’

Master Arten chuckled to himself, ‘It’s exactly that kind of attitude that makes beings like Tuk here so useful,’ he said gesturing to the once again unconscious Sullustan. The growing pool of drool undermined his argument. ‘My own Master referred to beings like Tuk as  _ the Unseen_. They’re the beings who are everywhere, but nowhere, see everything, but are never seen, who keep the galaxy moving, but always stay in the same place. Let’s paint you a picture. If you and me where in some seedy, dank, dark joint-

‘You are excusing me Master Jedi!’ Mel objected, as he set down the steaming cup of caf in front of Tuk.

‘Sorry Mel, was just trying to make a point.’ Seemingly unsatisfied, but huffing with his usual snorting chuckle, Mel walked back to his bar to continue cleaning from the previous evening. Master Arten continued, ‘If you and me where trying to make some kind of deal, because most smart dealers know to negotiate somewhere in public before bringing any hardware or product, would you think twice about an old Sullustan passed out in the corner? No, no you wouldn’t, we’d assume he can’t hear us, and even if he could no one would listen to him. It’s because beings like Tuk are taken for granted that they can know so much if you just ask.’

The Padawan wasn’t convinced. She admitted, that in her own life she often did not consider the beings who seemingly faded into the background, and she supposed that did give them a certain power to escape notice, but did they really have the kind of information that her Master would find useful during his investigations? Furthermore, she was more surprised by the mention of Master Arten’s own Master. She had tried to prod him for information about his training and upbringing since leaving the temple, but he always seemed distant on the topic. 

‘But Master...’

‘ _Arrrgh _ !’ groaned Tuk in his scratchy voice. ‘Mel. Meeel!’ he called out before unleashing a flood of rapid Sullustese, the only word Calia recognized was “more.” He raised his head, blinking and rubbing his bald head. Calia was about to say something before Master Arten raised his hand signaling for quiet.

Tuk just sat there. The room was deathly silent. He smacked his lips, and looking down finally noticed the steaming mug of caf. Master and apprentice sat with bated breath. He nearly spilled the beverage as he clumsily reached out for it. He held it up, and inhaled deeply, his nostrils flexing, whiffs of steam wafting up nose. He took a sip, lightly slurping the warm drink. Tuk set the cup back down. 

Calia didn’t realize she was holding her breath. She supposed she was expecting something to go catastrophically wrong. 

While his words where still nearly incomprehensibly slurred, as Tuk began speaking to her Master his sentences were now at least naturally leading into one another. Despite this (albeit small) improvement, she still had no idea what he was saying, as he seemed to be rattling off information rapidly, far faster than she could follow.

Suddenly he stopped, and turned his large head towards her, as if seeing her for the first time. She noticed how cloudy Tuk’s eyes were, he must have been borderline blind himself, and didn’t have the Force to rely on. He swiveled his head back to Master Arten, who held out his hand in a similar gesture to when he silenced her earlier, ‘You’re ok, I see her too. This is my Padawan Calia. She’s like my- um “Zoorat;” she is supposed to learn from me.’

The elderly being’s demeanor seemed to completely change. He laughed wholeheartedly, reaching across the table with both hands to graciously shake her hand as he spoke even more rapidly. Calia smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to react. Her mind fumbled trying to recall any standard Sullustese greeting, before she could though she was rescued by her grinning Master saying ‘Tuk, her Sullustese isn’t very good, Basic please.’

The old Sullustan effortlessly switched language mid-sentence, and continued speaking in perfect unaccented Basic, ‘It is my great pleasure to meet you!’ Still awkwardly shaking her hand from across the table he continued ‘My name is Tuk’tur Ka Nombur, but please call me Tuk, everyone around here does!’ he said as he threw his head back in a hearty laugh that left him wheezing, before sending him into a deep, sick sounding, hacking cough.

While Calia was relieved to have finally been released from the being’s grasp, now she was concerned for him as he continued painfully coughing. She had never heard coughing that sounded so...desperate. 

‘Tuk? asked Master Arten, concern in his voice. 

‘Fine, I am fine Richar.’

‘You are not fine. You need to get that cough checked out.’

‘Nonsense! I am as strong as an Arisibian Oxen, I just need another drink!’ announced Tuk, as he brought his caf mug to his lips, downing the rest of the still steaming drink in one effortless gulp. The Sullustan seemed almost immune to the pain of the searing hot drink. With the mug still in his hands he reeled his arm back. Calia flinched as she realized what he was about to do, but Master Arten was solid as ferrocrete, clearly familiar with what was coming next. With all his strength, Tuk threw the mug, it sailed through the air straight for the various liquor bottles on display behind the bar, but stopped suddenly in midair. Master Arten had his hand just slightly upraised, and the mug gently floating through the air before settling neatly back on the bar, both undamaged.

His bar and expensive liquor safe, Mel in a shaken voice said, ‘Thank you Master Jedi, I was not forward looking to cleaning that...again. ‘

‘Sorry Mel,’ Master Arten called back without looking. Now speaking to Tuk he said, ‘You have got to stop doing that old-timer, do you want to get kicked out of another bar?’

‘I told you, you do not need to worry about me’ Tuk simply replied.

Master Arten sighed, pulling the hood of his Jedi robe off as he ran one hand through his scruffy hair. ‘Anyway,’ he began, ‘Remember that character I asked you about a few weeks back? Dak Darkstar?’ He paused to wait for some acknowledgment from the Sullustan, who slowly nodded his head before jerking it back up sharply. Calia wasn’t convinced he wasn’t about to pass back out, the smell of alcohol on the being’s breath was intoxicating in its own right. ‘You keep your ears to the ground, have you heard anything?’

Tuk’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward in his chair closer to Master Arten and said, ‘I don’t appreciate your comment about my species’ appearance. Just yesterday, as I was trying to sleep in my alley, some duct-rats pulled at my ears, giggling all the while, so disrespectful! My people face a considerable amount of prejudice about our appearance and our large ears. And furthermore!-‘

‘Tuk!’ Master Arten interjected in a stern but gentle tone. Calia was impressed with his patience. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. You know that. Have you heard anything? Dak Darkstar? Anything?’ he pleaded.

The righteous indignation which had just a moment before possessed Tuk passed as quickly as it had arrived. He slumped back into his chair, rubbing his spotted scalp with one hand. ‘What kind of name is Darkstar I ask you?’ he was interrupted by that same wet hacking cough again.

_ Hargh _

_ Hargh! Ack! _

He tried to suppress the coughing, clearing his throat over and over.  _ Hrrrgh, Hrrrgh _ ! Before finally spitting a huge, huge! Glob of phlegm right onto the floor. It reminded Calia briefly of her first time meeting Master Arten, as similar shivers crept up her back. Tuk then continued as if nothing had happened saying, ‘I don’t seem to- No wait! I do-’ he seemed captured by an epiphany of understanding, but stopped suddenly. He smiled, a toothy wolfish grin, ‘Buy me a drink, and I will tell you what I know.’

Master Arten had been on the tip of his seat in anticipation, but once he heard the demand he slumped back in his seat. ‘Fine,’ he answered.

Satisfied with his sudden unexpected victory Tuk told him, ‘Those duct-rats, from before while they may have teased me for my ears. I heard one exclaim how “cool Mr. Darkstar’s name was,” as they were leaving.’

Duct rats, that was the second time now Calia heard the unfamiliar term.

‘Great Tuk, you’ve earned that drink. Did you recognize any of them?’

‘Ugh my memory is not so-‘

‘Fine! Two drinks.’

‘Yes I do. I mean, no. But I saw there were three humans, two males and a female, and a rodian male.’

Grunting as he stood up, Master Arten said to aged being in a tired voice, ‘Thanks Tuk, and uh, try to take care of yourself. Okay buddy?’

‘I make no promise!’ Tuk jovially announced, leaning back in his chair throwing his arms up over his head. From there he naturally moved his hands behind his head, and a moment later Calia could hear faint snores. She was, surprisingly, impressed. 

While she was staring Calia realized her Master had already moved to the bar, and heard him speaking to Mel in low voice as she got up to follow him. She saw him throw his cloak back and reach into his back pocket to pull out a credit-chit. He handed the chit to Mel who immediately slotted it into a reader behind the bar, Master Arten saying, ‘For the caf, and  _ one  _ drink. Then take the rest and send him to your daughter’s clinic to get that cough looked at.’

‘Will do’ Mel responded gravely. There was a momentary tension between the two, Calia could feel the concern rippling from both of them, seemingly reflecting back and forth, multiply their worries for their friend off each other. 

Master Arten really did care for this old being, and not just as a source of information. While she couldn’t help but think she was the one being selfish and suspicious. She turned her head to look back at Tuk’s sleeping form, he had since bent forward and was slumped onto the table once again, snoring gently. She recalled Master Drallig’s previous warnings - blackmail, coercion, violence- and found it hard to imagine the Jedi Knight that just paid for an old, tired being’s visit to a clinic was somehow dangerous. She hadn’t even thought about the request that she report to the Council if she observed him breaking the Jedi Code for quite some time.

Mel handed the credit-chit back to Master Arten who returned it to his back pocket, before turning to her to ask, grinning, ‘ready to go back to school?’


	9. Schoolyard Gossip: Part 1

Stepping out from the growing familiarity of the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ , into the – well, what constituted “fresh air” for the underlevels – Master Arten began marching at his usual determined gait out of the short alley connecting Mel’s place to the main thoroughfare. While he had begun to slow down somewhat for Calia’s sake, she still found herself continually trailing just behind him, exaggerated by muscles sore and tired from her morning training. 

The main avenue buzzed with activity. Beings moving up and down both sides of the street, divided by the narrow gap of a one-way skylane with only a waist high railing standing between you and a long, long, long fall. Earlier, Master Arten had warned her to be careful around any open skylanes, if you couldn’t manage to catch the railing or other handhold before reaching terminal velocity, there would be no saving you. He had described how occasionally you’d hear a passing, terrified, blood-curdling scream for an instant as a being plummeted by. A person who knew they were already dead, who knew no one would ever find their body or learn what happened to them. As far as anyone on the underlevels could tell, they had just disappeared.

Calia shook herself from the disturbing thoughts, as her Master turned away from his parked speeder hovering in the skylane to move down the street along the stream of beings. She could not help but consider how accurate it was to consider the moving crowds like a flowing river. If you moved with the current you would find yourself almost carried along by the mass of bodies, but if you tried to fight against it, you risked being swept away like she had nearly been her first day in the underlevels. 

Now somewhat accustomed to maneuvering through the crowds, she could finally see how drastically different this area of the 1442 was from where she had first met Master Arten or from the neighborhood around the safehouse. She surmised that the  _ Sarlaac Pit  _ must have been in the heart of the level’s entertainment district. While many streets and alleys were poorly lit, with years between visits by maintenance staff if it was safe for them at all, illumination of every shade and color blazed all around them as they walked. Floating holo-signs, advertisement droids with placards draped over their hovering chassis, and beings of every stripe and size created an mural of movement and color to challenge any great artist. This was in the early morning hours too, Calia could only imagine what the area must have been like during the height of the district’s revelries. With beings coming from every point between excitement and exhaustion in search of a few hours of pleasure before returning to their daily struggles and hardships. Now however, there was a certain tranquility. It was as if the Force itself had tired throughout the night, and was at rest while beings like Mel picked up the pieces preparing for the next night’s crowds of revelers.

As Calia’s thoughts drifted back towards the present, she remembered that Master Arten still had not explained to her where they were going or what they were doing. She hurried her pace, until she was just behind his right shoulder before asking, ‘So uh, Master? What did you mean by, “going back to school?”’

‘Hmm?’ he grunted without slowing his pace in the slightest. ‘Oh yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head admonishing himself, ‘We need to track down those duct-rats-’

‘Sorry Master,’ Calia interrupted, ‘What  is a duct-rat.’ She remembered how he and Tuk had mentioned the term a few times, but she had no idea what they were referring to. 

‘Of course, ugh sorry, again,’ Master Arten apologized, actually taking the time to turn to look over his shoulder at her. ‘Thing is, down here there’s a lot of younger kids who because their parents don’t have the time, don’t bother to take care of them, or are completely out of the picture, the kids spend most of their time playing together in the air vents and piping that honeycombs the buildings and platforms between levels. You know, all the vents and CO scrubbers which recycle the air throughout the planet and make this dead rock habitable.’

_ Why didn’t anyone look out for them? They’re children.  _

‘Anyway, inside the walls they tend to hear things, a lot of things. Not to mention it usually doesn’t take much to get them to talk.’ He reached into his belt and pulled out a small ration bar, chocolate flavored.

_ Where they that desperate just for food? _

‘The tricky part is finding them,’ Master Arten went on saying. ‘It’s tough even for me. They’re small, and moving through the vents like that they can go in anywhere and pop back out anywhere else. The only one who has any idea of where any group of duct-rats might be hanging out at any given time is Chantara, the dsitrict’s local school teacher.’

_ At least they have a school down here. I wonder what form it takes? Where does the funding come from? What do they- _

‘Calia?’ she heard suddenly heard Master Arten ask. ‘Calia?’

‘Yes! My apologies Master,’ she responded embarrassed. Calia was so lost in her concerns about schooling in the underlevels that she hadn’t noticed Master Arten had continued speaking.

‘It’s fine. And how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t need to call me Master.’

‘Ok’ was the only response she could muster.

She heard him sigh softy to himself, before continuing, ‘I was just saying how most of the duct rats only bother going to the school for a free meal, but Chantara does a good job keeping tabs on them anyway. She’s always saying, “kids talk if you just ask.” Who knows? Chantara might know something herself. She hears everything her kids say, and the kids hear everything their parents say. So, if we’re lucky the group who Tuk heard talking about Darkstar might be there now, and if not, she’s our best bet of finding them, and right now they’re our only lead on stemming the flow of those weapons.’

‘Yes ma – Yes.’ Calia began to admonish herself again before he interrupted her, ‘Relax, don’t worry about it,’ as he turned to look at her, a forced smile across his lips meant to put her at ease.

Earlier this morning Calia had felt she had come so far since she had first become his Padawan, but more and more she was finding herself unprepared for what life was like here on the underlevels. Maybe she was living her now, but she was still sheltered from what life was really like, and that realization left her unsettled.

Master and Padawan continued walking in silence, the scenery of the streets changing suddenly as he lead her into a side alley. Off the main street of the entertainment district, everything changed completely. The bright lights of every color and tone where suddenly replaced by either lonely flickering streetlamps, their yellow glow only offering minuscule amount of illumination, or streets with no lamps at all, lit only by the constant ambient illumination that suffused the underlevels at all times. 

Calia had no idea where they were going, her Master seemingly moving at random. Down a pathway, up a staircase, even through the occasional abandoned condemned building from time to time, until coming to an abrupt stop. He leaned back against the building opposite an unassuming doorway with a flickering yellow light hanging just above the door frame. 

‘Ugh, Master?’ she couldn’t help but ask.

‘Oh yeah, sorry, we’re here.’

She just looked up at him, expecting some explanation.

‘Master? Should we, um, go in?’

‘It’s the middle of the day. She’ll rip me in half if I interrupt her class…again. So, we’re waiting for her next smoke break.’ He furrowed his brows, seemingly hit by a unexpectant realization. ‘Oh fark,’ he said to himself before asking, ‘hey Calia, how old are you again?’

She was shocked by the sudden question. Firstly, because of how intrusive it felt to be asked such personal questions in the middle of a dank alley, and secondly, because he should have remembered such basic information about his Padawan. 

‘Fifteen, Master,’ she answered curtly.

‘Right, right.’ replied Master Arten, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. 

‘Why does it matter, Master?’

Gripping the bridge of his nose he began, ‘Well the thing about Chantara is that she–’ the door opposite them slowly creaked open, rusted hinges straining to move, ‘Well, you’ll see for yourself in a second,’ he finished, pushing himself up from the wall approaching the entrance. 

The Padawan followed after him, as a small figure emerged with their back turned, pulling the heavy door closed behind them. As they turned, Calia was shocked to see she was a Neimoidian. While her physical appearance, olive green skin, large bright orange eyes which lacked any pupil aside from stripe of black stretching vertically across their surface, prominent lips, and complete lack of a nose, was not an especially surprising sight on such a cosmopolitan planet. It was seeing a Neimoidian on Coruscant, and one working as a school teacher below the surface in the underlevels that was absolutely bewildering. The Confederacy of Independent Systems, the coalition of planets currently at war with the Republic, was effectively lead by the Neimoidians, which would have made her an object of suspicion, if not outright hostility. Additionally, they as a species were reputed as having an obsession with wealth, status, and power. In contrast to this reputation, this Neimodian was only wearing simple black robes, cinched by a belt, with a plain skullcap, completely at odds with the ostentatious and colorful clothing usually worn by members of her species. Now that Calia considered it, she had never seen or even heard of a Neimoidian outside of powerful political or financial figures. 

‘Arten.’ She spoke, the being’s Basic bearing a slight trace of a foreign accent, ‘What do you – Who is this?’ the Neimodian suddenly asked gesturing towards Calia with an urgency in her voice.

‘This is Calia. She is my ugh –’ Master Arten tried to say as the alien turned her gaze towards Calia, and the Jedi Knight urgently trying to change the subject went on, ‘Calia, this is Chantara, she’s an old friend of mine.’

‘No, no, no,’ Chantara interrupted, ‘Who is this? You know what I meant.’

‘She’s my Padawan, she –’

‘How old is she?!’

‘Fif- Fifteen,’ he answered, wincing and inching away from the small being.

From how her Master was reacting, Calia was expecting an explosion of anger from the schoolteacher, but she only sighed. Reaching into a pocket on the front of her robes, she produced a small plasma lighter and a packet of cigarras. Placing one cigarra in her mouth and lighting it, the orange glow leaking through her cupped fingers, she took a long slow drag on the tabac before expelling a cloud of smoke from her mouth in a long drawn out breath. Calia had grown familiar with the acrid smell of cigarras, beings smoked them everywhere in the underlevels, but this was the first time she was in such close proximity to someone smoking one.

Holding the lit cigarra offhandedly between two fingers, leaning back against the door the teacher began saying to Master Arten, ‘Bad enough you always come sniffing around my kids for information,’ her words were gradually building in intensity, ‘but now you have one following you around right into the danger?’ Now she was standing up from the door, smoke tumbling out of her mouth as she nearly yelled, ‘How many blaster fights has she been in so far?!’

‘None!’ he answered forcefully.

‘Sure, fine, but it’s dangerous for a young woman –’ She stopped mid-sentence, her tone and demeanor changing instantly to that of a warm educator, as she leaned forward now speaking to Calia, ‘I’m sorry, my name is Chantara Sisuk. You can call me Ms. Sisuk or Ms. Chanta if you like.’ Without missing a single beat, she smoothly flowed back into the tirade directed at her Master, ‘Even if she’s training and can use the Force, she must be completely unprepared. Why would you in your right mind bring a child – have her follow you around – going right into the line of fire –’

Master Arten tried to interject, ‘I said the same thing, but the council –’ 

‘No interrupting!’ she fired back. Calia imagined she was well practiced silencing interruptions, though normally not from someone so formidable. Though considering it now, this was the first time she had seen Master Arten on the defensive: not the one in control. It was, well, refreshing. 

Ms. Chanta paused to take another drag on the cigarra before she continued, smoke belching from her mouth with each word, ‘It’s completely irresponsible. You! You more than anyone should know what could happen!’ At this remark, the energy fueling her anger seemed to dissipate as she recoiled back. Master Arten only stood there, impassive.

‘Fine, whatever, nothing I can do about it. What do you need?’ Ms. Chanta asked, her fury now spent, smoldering into warm coals.

‘I ugh…need to talk to a few duct rats about something- two human boys, a human girl, and a rodian boy. It’s important…please.’

Calia could see the schoolteacher ball her fists as she tightly closed her eyes, she could almost feel Ms. Chanta’s anger and frustration, but it was being drowned by other feelings of pain and confusion. The schoolteacher seemed to be torn between two emotional extremes. Without saying a word she took another pull on the quickly disintegrating cigarra. ‘Fine, but give me a minute to cool off,’ Ms. Chanta finally answered, regaining her composure. 

‘Ok, come on Calia’ he responded firmly, turning back towards the way the pair had come.

‘No, no, she can stay,’ Ms. Chanta announced, a sly grin growing on her face.’

Master Arten stopped in his tracks. Calia couldn’t see his expression from behind his bandages, but the surprise mixed with confusion he must have felt was unmistakable.

‘Alright, I guess. So I’ll just, go and, um – yeah’ he said before slinking off shoulders hunched.


	10. Schoolyard Gossip: Part 2

Wow,’ Calia announced flatly, ‘I have never seen Master Arten so…defeated, and I saw him get punched within a minute of meeting him.’

‘Ha ha! What I would have paid to see that,’ Ms. Chanta responded. 

_ Was that out loud!? _

‘So Calia? How are you?’

Recollecting herself, Calia replied, ‘I am fine Ms. Chanta. Thank you for asking.’

‘Sweetheart, it’s fine. You can relax,' Ms. Chanta offered, 'I won’t bite. Trust me, I’m used to dealing with kids who are considerably more disrespectful. 

‘Oh, thank you,’ Calia responded. ‘I seem to provoke a similar sentiment from most beings down here.’

Ms. Chanta leaned back against the door she had exited from, smothering the final embers of her cigarra against its surface. ‘It’s funny,’ she began, ‘most of my life I always had this idea of what meeting a Jedi would be like. Then I go and meet your Master, and he couldn’t be more different from the image of a refined, courteous, and spiritual warrior, defined by their humility. You though, I can see that image in you.’

Calia couldn’t help but smile, a flush creeping up her cheeks. ‘Thank you, but I’m not much of a fighter. That’s something Master Arten has been working on with me. Before, I always believed in talking through conflict.’

‘I can understand that if you’re following Arten around you’d need to be able to protect yourself, but don’t disregard your own beliefs. What the underlevels really need is more talking, but you never answered my question, not really. How are you?’

‘I suppose – I guess I’m doing alright. It was shocking and frightening at first. I mean my first day was –’ her memories of how confused and frightened she was stabbed at her chest, ‘I’d rather not get into it, but it’s been getting better, Master Arten isn’t so bad,’ recalling thier sparring sessions and recent playful banter. 

‘You don’t think he’s cold? Distant?’

Calia stopped to consider her question, her brows furrowed. ‘No, I mean, not unlike most beings I’ve known. Actually, compared to many Jedi he is much more...expressive.’

Ms. Chanta chuckled again, ‘I guess emotionally repressed is just a Jedi thing.’ She paused looking Calia up and down, ‘it does seem to come in different flavors though,’ she said before realizing how she was making the young woman uncomfortable. 

An awkward air passed between the Padawan and the educator. Calia could not help but suddenly feel self-conscious of how she must have appeared to mundane beings; aloof and distant at best.

‘Forgive me,’ said Ms. Chanta suddenly apologizing. ‘I more than most beings should know not to judge someone so quickly. You’d be surprised to learn how many parents have pulled their children out of class just because they learned I’m a Neimodian.’

Could there really be beings so stubborn and ignorant to deny their children an education over such a petty excuse? The idea seemed impossible to Calia, but then the memories of her first reaction to seeing Ms. Chanta came rushing back to her. The question nagging at the back of Calia’s consciousness became too much, and she asked, ‘Ms. Chanta, if it’s not too personal, how did you come to be here?

Smiling warmly, Ms. Chanta responded, ‘It’s something of a long story, but I suppose I have a few minutes.’ She stopped to remove another cigarra from the packet in her pocket. Lighting it, she began, ‘I used to be, in what feels like a lifetime ago, a mid-level financier for the Trade Federation.’ An excited  _ wow _ , escaped from Calia’s lips. Within the Trade Federation, even a mid-level position would have made her fabulously wealthy. Ms. Chanta, her wistful expression lighted by the soft glow of the cigarra’s embers went on, ‘I worked up on the surface, went to fabulous dinners, the opera, rubbed shoulders with some of the best and brightest in the Republic, but I was young. I only got where I was thanks to my family’s wealth and connections. I wasn’t complaining. I had everything I could ever want. I didn’t ask any questions.

Then the Invasion of Naboo happened. The beings I worked for held an entire planet hostage, because one man, Chancellor Palpatine, challenged the Federation’s authority by just trying to tax our tax-free zones. He was just trying to raise some credits to expand social programs. You know how we retaliated? By nearly starving millions of innocent humans on his homeworld to death with our blockade.

I just couldn’t be a part of that anymore. So I took everything I could take with me, which wasn’t much, and started teaching. I struggle to get by everyday, my family has disowned me, and I constantly worry about my kids, but I at least I know I’m making the Galaxy better than I left it.’

Calia had to ask, ‘Then why are you so reluctant to help Master Arten? Is he not trying to help beings too?’

She inhaled deeply on her cigarra again, before snuffing it out, half smoked. ‘Well, there was an incident, early on after I started here. Thing is, I hear every word in my classroom, and the children hear their parent’s every word. I overheard one of my students, Bicham, talk about how they saw beings in chains, slaves I guessed, at their father’s work. I was frightened, and didn’t know what to do. I went to Mr. Medicum, who organizes the funding for all the schools in the district, and he pointed me to Rich- I mean, Master Arten. He did what he always does, freed the slaves, brought the slavers to justice, and made sure more lives wouldn’t pass through the district. The next day though, Bicham was gone without a trace. I’ve...helped, Arten here and there since then, more than I wish I’ve had to, and thankfully nothing else has happened to any of my students, but I can’t help thinking of Bicham every time I see your Master. 

I just wish- just wish he could do things differently, you know?’ Calia did not know. Ms. Chanta continued, ‘My children love him! To them, he’s like a holo-hero come to life, they always crowd around him asking questions and begging for stories, and for the rest of the day all they ask me is for even more stories about him and his adventures; it’s why I make him go to the back door. And now, the children he’s asking about,  _ duct-rats _ , they have it bad enough as it is. They don’t have anyone to look after them, besides each other, and playing in those vents...’ she trailed off, pain creeping into her voice, ‘we occasionally find– we find a little body. Whether spinning fan blades, a sudden drop, even dehydration after getting lost, they don’t always climb back out of those ducts. Richar has found a few of them himself, he sees them in the walls or platforms where others can’t.’

Calia felt, she felt confused, bordering on angry. How could the Republic, how could the Jedi, let children live that way. Should there not be some system in place for children who don’t have parents? Shelters? Foster homes? Orphanages? Then there was the realization that some beings simply could not, or chose not to take care of their children, like Bicham’s father. She pushed away the fact that slavery existed on Coruscant, she had to before she completely spiraled. Calia felt pangs of sadness ring through her heart for these children, her upbringing in the temple may not have been especially– warm, but at least she was safe and comfortable. Calia felt herself shudder, as if a cold chill had blown through her, how could these children be left on their own– left on their own to die.

‘So?’ Ms. Chanta asked breaking Calia from her rambling thoughts, ‘I told you my story, how did you come to find yourself down here?’

Thankful for an opportunity to distance herself from her own thoughts, Calia began, ‘Well, I always assumed a Jedi Consular would choose me for their padawan,’ feeling her emotions returning to normal, at least for the moment. ‘I always excelled at negotiating and diplomacy, becoming a consular would be the natural use for my talents. However, it seems the war has affected the Order’s needs. Since the conflict began the Jedi Council took over padawan assignments and they–’ she stopped, her words caught in her throat, remembering again how she was meant to report on her Master secretly. ‘It was– it just, I do not– I am learning, and it has given me a new perspective, which is important, but I just believe I can do more elsewhere,’ Calia could feel her emotions spiraling again. ‘I, I have–

‘Take a breathe dear.’

Ms. Chanta’s kind words struck through the mounting panic. Calia had thought she had moved beyond her disappointment and broken expectations, but it seems they had just been hiding, waiting to clamor their way to the surface. How could the Council ask her to carry such a burden? Where did her expectations fit into their calculations? How far where they willing to disrupt her life and training just to chastise a seemingly rouge jedi?

Continuing, Ms. Chanta advised her, ‘I understand Calia. It’s always hard when your carefully laid plans are ruined by something you have no control of.’ She turned her head towards the young woman, offering a gentle smile of empathy and compassion so unique to beings who dedicate themselves to others. ‘I mean, look at me. If you told me ten years ago I would be a teacher enjoying a smoke break in the underlevels with a jedi, I’d have dropped dead. Here I am though. This life can be hard, but it’s mine; broken dreams, shattered expectations, bumps, bruises, and all.’

Calia looked up into the being’s warm eyes, eyes which had seemed so alien such a short time ago. ‘Thank you, Ms. Chanta.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t just teach math and grammar. Life lessons are up there on my lesson plan too. Well, I think your Master has had enough time to stew.’ Stew? Calia wondered before Ms. Chanta suddenly called out, ‘Arten!’ The Padawan could hear footsteps gradually getting closer, and in a few moments the jedi knight stepped back out from the shadows, his expression grim. Calia looked to him, then back to Ms. Chanta who directly stated, ‘You’re looking for a group who call themselves the Gutterrunners, the two human boys are Mica and Tombo, the girl is Mara, and the Rodian boy is Lido, they usually hang around the old water-processing plant to the southwest.’ She took another step towards him, jabbing a finger into his chest, ‘If I hear anything happens to them, or her’ tilting her head towards Calia, ‘it’ll be the last you hear from me.’

Master Arten opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words. Calia could feel the energy pass between each of them in the Force, intertwined yet– separated. He shined and flared up intensely, she was much smaller, but steady and calm, comforting. Through the Force it looked like a candle standing up to a raging inferno, but it stood firm all the same. Back in the physical world, Master Arten just said to her calmly, ‘thank you.’

The tension seemed to drain out of Ms. Chanta’s shoulders, the Force dwindling around them both. 

‘I need to get back to my class, this smoke break has already gone on too long, it’s probably anarchy in there’ the schoolteacher announced. She turned around back towards the exit, and strained herself against the heavy door. Without a word, Master Arten held his hand up, and the door began to push itself open. She took one step in the entrance, turned back towards the Master and Padawan and said, ‘Take care of each other, and Calia, good luck with your new plans.’ 

As she disappeared into the shadows, the heavy door grinding back into place, the quiet alley now sterile and silent, Calia only felt more unsure about her own future than ever, but found some hope in knowing beings like Ms. Chanta existed in the Galaxy.


	11. The Gutterrunners: Part 1

Bicham. Like the droning bells that filled the emptiness of a meditation chamber, the name kept ringing throughout Calia’s consciousness. 

Bicham.

Bicham.

Bicham.

She had been wordlessly following Master Arten back to the safehouse, as the water-processing plant was too far to walk, her mind swimming in the murky waters of doubt. From her recent studies and her Master’s descriptions, she knew how difficult life was for beings on the underlevels. Until know though, it had always been theoretical, statistics, just information. Now, she had a name, Bicham. Despite being nothing more than words on the wind to her, Calia could almost see their face. She imagined this child, completely innocent, who saw something they should not have, who did the right thing and told their teacher about suffering beings, and then vanished without a trace. 

She looked up from her feet, and saw Master Arten marching confidently in front of her, his cloak billowing out in time with his steps behind him. He must have known. Maybe, he had tried to protect Bicham, or maybe nothing even had happened to the child. His family may have just moved after Master Arten broke up the slaver operation. Slavery, right here on Coruscant, in the jewel of the Galaxy. Was what happened to Bicham worth ending such horror? Of course, right? Was that how Master Arten saw it? How he sees it? What he- what they, were doing right now, was it any different from back then? I mean, weapons are in their essence dealing in lives, just snuffing them out instead of enslaving them, Calia thought, and now they were going to try to get more information from other children. 

As the two jedi reached the speeder garage on the backside of their makeshift home and began the short trip to the plant, Calia still could not escape her doubts slowly gnawing at her determination. Did Master Arten think about what happened to the beings he helps, after he helps them? He must have, right? She looked over at the jedi knight, who seemed completely focused on flying the speeder, but through the Force she felt his thoughts where a whirlwind; possibilities and leads, open doors and dead ends, all racing through him as he soared through the skylanes effortlessly.

He seemed so determined and passionate to put a stop to the suffering of level 1442’s beings. Mel, Tuk, Ms. Chanta, they all seemed to have different perspectives on her Master, but the consistent thing was that he put everything he had, his very spirit in the Force, towards making the lives of those beings who had no hope just a little better, but– but she also remembered the pained screams from inside the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ , she heard them every night in her dreams. She imagined Bicham’s face, a ghostly, shifting phantasm in her memory. Master Arten was a jedi knight, he must have considered the consequences of his actions. If he did, did that make things better or worse? Was this what Master Drallig warned her about. He had said Master Arten results were unimpeachable, but it was the methods that went too far. She-

‘You alright?’

‘What?’ Calia almost yelped, surprised and bewildered as she was jerked violently from her introspection.

‘I could sense your feelings. Sorry, I know it’s intrusive, but I can’t really help it sometimes,’ Master Arten calmly and apologetically said to her, as he gestured towards his bandaged eyes.

She wasn’t sure what to say, she felt like she was drowning in her thoughts, and here was an outstretched hand offering to pull her out, but she could not bring herself take it. ‘It is just so much to take in, finally being out here. My studying could not have prepared me, everything– everything is just so different from how I always imagined Coruscant. I have lived here as long as I can remember, and only saw one, infinitesimally, small part of it.’ Her explanation was only one part of what was pulling at her, but it was still sincere. 

Without, turning towards her, his attention seemingly still focused on the busy skylane, Master Arten said, ‘Don’t blame yourself, the Jedi seem to have a bad habit of focusing on the big picture so much, they don’t notice the lines and colors in front of their faces. You’ll adjust, give it time.’

She left her real worries unsaid. Unsure if she could trust him to understand, or afraid that he understood too well.

While Coruscant level 1442 was a sprawling network of winding streets, alleys, and buildings of every shape and size, by speeder, it could be traversed relatively quickly. While the level encompassed the entire circumference of Coruscant, so named as it was the one-thousandth, four hundred, and forty second layer from the planet’s original now uninhabitable surface, the district Master Arten had chosen to haunt composed only a relatively small area, which still required the jedi knight’s full attention to maintain even some semblance of stability. As such, the pair of jedi arrived at the abandoned water treatment plant in what felt like to Calia only a few short minutes. 

Stepping out from the supped-up speeder’s cramped interior, the young woman saw that the plant, while a large sprawling complex set in the middle of a sea of smaller tenements, felt, even from the outside, eerily empty. A silent shell of what it had once been. Like always, Master Arten marched his way towards the plant’s large double doors without a single word of warning or encouragement towards his Padawan, as she followed quickly growing used to his aloof manner.

At the entrance, Master Arten briefly tried pressing the door control, which remained completely inert. ‘Take the other side,’ he commanded, as he took hold of one of the doors, gripping its edge. She nodded silently, as she took hold of the opposite door, and both Master and Apprentice grunted as the doors ground hideously on a rusted track as they were slowly pulled apart. The interior of the plant did not leave a better impression on Calia than the outside had. The reception area they had stepped into was covered with a thick layer of dust, which would explode into choking clouds of dust from every movement, more than once Calia found herself coughing, and began to instinctively hold the sleeve of her cloak over her mouth as they began their way through the plant. 

Master Arten seemed to instinctively know where to go, or at the very least he wandered confidently enough to give the illusion he knew where he was going. While following him, Calia allowed her mind to reach out into the currents of the Force, and felt echoes of industry, the hard work of dozens if not hundreds of beings who each brought a unique combination of skills, but came together in unison towards a common goal. As the imprint of their labor and mastery moved through her, Calia could barely understand the contrast from the now hollow plant. She asked, ‘Master, what happened here.’

Without turning or slowing he responded, ‘The workers and staff here were the district’s primary source of clean- well, relatively clean water. But as the ancient, and I mean  _ ancient  _ machinery, some of it is literally hundreds of years old, continued to wear down they had to work longer and longer hours for the same pay just to maintain a consistent flow. Eventually they had enough and went on strike, but the local government either refused to or couldn’t afford the new equipment they needed. So the strike continued and continued until the plant was shuttered completely. Now water gets siphoned in, often illegally, from neighboring districts, assuming there’s water at all. You don’t need to worry though, the safehouse has its own filtration system.’ 

Calia’s concerns were not for her own well-being, and his assurances did nothing to dissuade her growing concerns. If only it were that simple.

As they continued making their way through the plant, gradually, signs of life began to appear. More and more dust had already been unsettled, doors that had already been moved recently were easier to pull open, and even the occasional empty drinking container or food wrapper was strewn about. Working together once again, they opened another heavy door into a large open room, settled into what must have been the heart of the plant. In two long rows that extended from one side of the chamber to the other were large machines with huge circular apparatuses connected to pipes, which Calia guessed were the plant’s main filtration systems. The machines had clearly been out of service for an age, the rust and stale smell of stagnant water attesting to that, but more interesting was a dim orange light in the far corner of the chamber. 

She strained her ears for any sound, a voice or movement, but nothing. Remembering her blindfolded saber practice, she quickly closed herself to her surroundings, and feeling through the Force found four faint flickers of life in the same directions as the illumination; the Gutterrunners. When she returned her consciousness to the present, her Master was already on the move. He must have been feeling for them since they entered the building, her momentary pride quickly quelled by his ability to not only feel for his objective from much farther away, but doing so while still sensing and moving through his immediate surroundings. 

Strangely, once Calia and Master Arten arrived at the light’s source, there was no sign of anyone. Well, that was not true, there were plenty of signs. The crude tents fabricated from cheap plastic tarps tied off the filters, even more food and drink containers, and a small lamp hung on the wall all pointed to the gang living there, but there were no sign of the duct rats themselves.  _ Duct rats _ – Calia found herself unwittingly using the crude term.

She could not understand, she had felt them, she knew she had. Where could they have gone? Seemingly undaunted, Master Arten, standing tall, his shoulders squared, put his gloved fingers to his lips, and blew a sharp, shrill whistle which echoed through the large room. ‘I know you’re there,’ he called out, ‘I’m a jedi, you know, the local investigator. I’ll trade you for just a few questions.’

The echoes of his voice radiated through the unnervingly silent chamber. Suddenly, a vent against the far wall well over Calia’s head popped open, the metal grating clanging loudly as it hung limply. A moment later a small, green head with a narrow mouth, two antenna ending in a cupped shape, and large pupil-less eyes popped out as well, who she recognized as a Rodian boy exclaiming, ‘Cthn ruylen?’ in Rodese. Before Calia had time to consider the small being clambering out of the overhead vent, another duct by her feet burst open, and then a panel on the water filter to her left pooped open as well. In mere moments empty room was suddenly filled with laughing giggling children, two human boys, a human girl, and the rodian boy, with dirty hands and feet, ragged clothes, but bright smiling faces.

The Gutterrunners quickly surrounded the two jedi, asking a flurry of questions too fast and relentlessly for Calia to keep track of.

‘Calia, watch their hands. They’ll rob you blind if you let’em,’ Master Arten warned.

Just as her master’s words reached Calia’s ears, she felt her lightsaber being lifted off her belt. ‘Hey!’ she called out reflexively, and the human boy who had been trying to take the saber quickly backed off. 

Without missing a beat, the same boy quickly changed the subject turning to Master Arten asking, ‘So are you really a Jedi?

‘Yes.’

‘And you can really use the Force?’

‘Yes.’

‘You really can’t see?’

‘Not with my eyes.’

‘Wow! And you’re a detective? You fight crime?’

‘There’s a bit more to it than-’ He paused, then interrupted himself saying, ‘Yeah sure, I fight crime.’

The boy exclaimed ,’So blizz!’ followed by more hushed voices and exclamations between the children. Calia couldn’t help but smile at how excited the children were, it seemed her master was something of an urban legend among the children of the district, though it pulled at her ego somewhat by how she was seemingly below their notice.

‘Ok, ok,’ Master Arten said to them in a calming tone. ‘My name’s Richar Arten, and this is my Padawan Calia Rayyah,’ waving an outstretched hand towards her. She shyly, held up her own hand in a meek greeting. The boy who had been interrogating her Master moments ago responded, ‘My name is Tombo.’ The other Gutterrunners had gathered around the boy, who seemed to be the informal leader of the gang, and each followed his lead introducing themselves with the other human boy saying ‘I’m Mica,’ the human girl in a gruff tone (trying to sound tough) growled ‘My name is Mara,’ and finally the Rodian boy simply said ‘Lido,’ in an echoing alien voice.

Tombo once again taking the lead, asked in swaggering voice, ‘So, you said you need somethin from us  _ Mr. Jedi _ , it’ll cost ya though. The Gutterrunners don’t come cheap.’ 


	12. The Gutterrunners: Part 2

Master Arten smirked, Calia had to admit she was impressed by the boy’s confidence as well. They had gone from gushing at the jedi, to negotiating with him in a heel turn. The jedi knight held up an empty hand, and she saw the same chocolate ration bar he had shown her earlier begin to float up off his belt. The Gutterrunners were absolutely enraptured as they watched it gently coast through the air towards them. While nothing more than the most basic application of the Force (in the temple Calia would have been chastised if she had used the Galaxy spanning energy in such a frivolous manner), to these children it was seemingly life changing to see the Force, to really see it, in person. Holding the ration bar in mid-air between himself and Tombo, Master Arten asked ‘I’m looking for someone. Point me in the right directions and this, and three more bars like it, are all yours.’

Tombo, tentatively, reached up to the chocolate bar, until he was suddenly sharply elbowed in the the side by Mara. The boy grunted gripping his ribs, looking incredulously at the girl, until an epiphany seemed to dawn across his face. The other two boys looked onto their leader, with Mara crossing her arms as Tombo puffed himself back up announcing, ‘You think you can bribe us with snacks? Ha! You want our help, we want cold hard credits.’ Calia had to stifle a laugh, she could see the boy was putting on a tough face, but she saw in his eyes just how much he wanted to reach out and take the “magically” floating ration bar.

‘Really? Credits? Where would you even spend them? I haven’t even told you who I’m looking for yet, and you want credits?’ said Master Arten, who in an overly exaggerated manner looked over towards Calia with an expression that seemed to scream  _ get a load of these kids _ , as he snatched the ration bar back out of the air. ‘Fine. How much are we talking.’

A momentary wave of confusion seemed to pass over the boy’s features, as if he had doubted the jedi would ever even consider the request. Tombo quickly glanced to his left then to his right, the subtle signal received, the patchwork gang quickly huddled together away from the two jedi. Calia could not make out any words, but heard rushed, hushed whispers interrupted by the occasional giggle. After an agreement was promptly reached, the Gutterunners all turned at once, Tombo stepping forward proudly to declaring to Master Arten, ‘fifteen hundred credits’ before spitting into his palm and holding it out to Master Arten to seal their deal. Calia felt her nose crinkle involuntarily at the unsanitary gesture.

‘You’re kidding,’ Master Arten softly spoke to the beaming child.

‘Take it or leave it Mister Jedi,’ Tombo flatly responded, crossing his arms.

The jedi knight simply shrugged his shoulders, in another exaggerated almost cartoony manner, before announcing, ‘Well, let’s get going.’ Without another word or explanation he turned away, back towards where they had come.

Calia was in a dazed stupor. He seemed so excited to finally have a new lead just a short time ago? He had just risked a chastisement from Ms. Chanta, and now he just turns and leaves because they asked for a few credits– and what was so wrong with just giving them the credits? She knew he always carried some for just this kind of occasional, these kids must have needed them more than the usual rabble he paid out to. What about Tuk? Just a few hours ago he had paid for a clinic visit. All these thoughts rushed through Calia’s mind, as she realized she had just been standing absentmindedly, “left holding the bag” as it were, her Master walking away without her.

She was about to reluctantly turn and follow him, before she saw Tombo standing nervously, his lip quivering, seemingly gathering his voice. He called out, ‘one thousand!’ Calia turned to look at her Master, suddenly realizing he had been walking much slower than his usual marching gait, but had not slowed any more despite the boy calling to him.

‘Nine hundred!’

Nothing.

‘Seven hundred!’

‘One hundred!’ Master Arten said, almost yelling as he stopped in his tracks without turning.

‘Four!’ Tombo called again, but his once confident voice now reeked of desperation.

Now Master Arten turned, a sly half grin flasing, ‘two’ he called back.

‘Three,’ Tombo responded, his voice regaining some of its lost energy.

The jedi knight began walking back towards towards Calia and the gang, throwing out, ‘two-hundred and fifty credits, and another hundred if you go to school for a week,’ before pulling off his right glove, spitting into his own palm, and holding it out to make their agreement official as he reached Tombo.

A grimace of turning gears revealed Tombo carefully considering the cost-benefit of the deal, before another set of quick glances lead to a second huddle. This time it only lasted a few seconds before they breaked. Tombo, once again, disgustingly, spit into his palm and vigorously shook her Master’s hand, sending shivers up her spine as her face involuntarily tensed.  _ Ugh_!

‘So, I’m looking for a Dak Darkstar, been dealing in weapons.’ Master Arten finally asked.

‘Oh man, I heard about that guy, such a cool name,’ Tombo exclaimed.

‘Yeah,’ Mica added, ‘Sounds like the bad guy from a holo-serial.

‘Right, I heard he wears a cool duster, and is always giving these speeches to his men.’

‘Yeah, yeah yeah,’ Mica stopped to glance over at Master Arten, ‘And now a jedi is gonna go fight him!’

‘Focus.’ Master Arten tried to interrupt their excited gushing to no avail.

‘I can see it now,’ Mica beamed, ‘ _ The Jedi Investigator at the Heart of the Darkstar! _ ’ Calia stifled another laugh, despite everything, having no one and no place to call home, these children still had that unfiltered joy of being children.

‘Focus!’ Master Arten spoke more forcefully, restraining a groan. ‘Do you know anything about where he is? 

The color suddenly fled from Tombo’s features, Mica looked back to him nervously. Calia knew the feeling, when you worked towards something so hard that you lost sight of what it was. ‘Ugh guys? Do you know anything about where Darkstar is?’ he weakly called to the other Gutterrunners trailing off. Mara simply shrugged, Mica shook his head, but Nido seemed deep in thought. All at once his expression lifted in elation, announcing, ‘Shcutta! Schutta! Darkstar!’ All eyes, bandaged and otherwise, were on the Rodian boy, but no one said anything. 

‘Ugh, what is it?’ Master Arten eventually asked, but the Rodian simply tugged on Mica’s sleeve excitedly, while pointing towards the jedi. Mica looked at Nido, then back at Mater Arten saying, ‘Nido doesn’t speak Basic, and he only understands a little. I guess he just got excited when he recognized when ya said Darkstar.’

‘Great,’ Master Arten sighed, ‘I finally find a lead, but I can’t understand them, will have to find a-‘

‘I speak a little Rodese, Master,’ Calia interrupted, ‘One of the apprentices I studied with was Rodian. I can try to ask him.’

‘Great! Thank you,’ He responded, sighing again, but this time in relief.

Calia stepped forward towards Nido, who’s excitement quickly dissipated, inching ever so slightly behind Mica as the stranger approached. The Padawan recognized shyness when she saw it, she felt the same way enough times, and knew what would help. She stopped a few steps in front of the boy, squatted down, bringing herself to his level, then introduced herself again, this time in Rodese. The boy’s expression softened somewhat, but he did not speak. Calia searched her memory for what to say next, but only a few scattered Rodese words came to mind, ‘Cachu, cachu happa Darkstar?’  _ Where, Where find Darkstar _ .

An excited flurry of words exploded from the shy Rodian’s narrow mouth, Calia did her best to follow him, but could only grasp the occasional word or phrase. He began repeating the same few words over and over, growing more and more animated finally having someone to speak his native language with, it was like listening to Tuk all over again.

Master Arten asked, ‘What’s he saying?’

I am sorry Master,’ Calia apologized, 'but the only words I can understand are:  _ jump_,  _ fly,  _ and _, ball_. I am sorry.’

A fog of confusion seemed to settle across Arten’s expression, before the light of an idea banished it away. Now he was the excited one, and jumped into the air, pushing himself up further than would have been possible without the Force’s aid, and while in mid-air gestured as if he was throwing some kind of object. Nido’s face lit up once again, followed by more energetic  _ Schutta _ ’s, and of course all the children where enraptured in delighted awe as well at the unexpected feat.

Now the confusion had come to roost over Calia. Standing, she asked, ‘Master what is-‘

‘Grav-ball, he saw him at the grav-ball arena!’ Master Arten answered before she could ask, ‘Just outside the industrial area there’s a fitness center. It has a large grav-ball field, and since no one can afford the anti-grav boots, it’s mostly unused. The arena is wide and open, but can still be completely sealed off. It’s the perfect place for dealing in large shipments of hardware. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?’ he admonished himself.

Calia was proud to have finally contributed something to her Master’s efforts, and she saw that Nido was receiving praise of his own in the form of thanks and pats on the back from the other Gutterrunners. 

Master Arten stepped forward until he was next to her, looking down at the celebrating children. Thoroughly distracted, Master Arten melodramatically cleared his throat to get the Gutterrunners attention. They all turned in unison, with Tombo taking a small step forward proclaiming, ‘Ok, you got your information where’s our credits?’

Master Arten smiled and laughed, ‘Fine, fine, here you go.’ He held his hand up again, just as he had with the ration bar, and from the front of his belt a credit-chit floated up and gently glided through the air towards the Gutterrunners, who all stepped back in awe. Once again, all the children’s faces were completely focused on the floating chit. Calia realized she too had been transfixed on the chit, as she felt something gently press against her side. She glanced down, and saw that her Master poked her with four chocolate ration bars held in his free hand. She looked down at the bars, then back up at him, he gestured towards the Gutterrunners with his chin. She understood, and took the bars, hiding them behind her back in one hand. 

All the while he continued keeping the children’s attention, Tombo tentatively reaching up towards the credit chit, before gathering his courage and snatching for it, but it flew upwards out of his reach just as he lunged. The boy opened his mouth, ready to mouth-off at the jedi knight in indignation, but Master Arten was ready and interrupted Tombo saying, ‘Remember, all of you go to school a whole week– in a row, not one day here and another there. I know it’s far from here, but Ms. Chanta will find you a place you can stay that’s closer if you ask. We shook on it, right?’

Whining, Tombo said, ‘Fine, fine, fine! We’ll all go, ok?!’

‘Ok’ Master Arten replied, and with that the credit-chit began to lower, but once again as the boy reached up for it it flew up out of reach. Before Tombo had any chance to say anything Master Arten further warned the gang, ‘I’ll know if you don’t go, Ms. Chanta will tell me, and it’ll be the last credits you see from me.’

‘Aww fine!’ Tombo whined, reaching up for the bar a third time, and for a third time it skipped upwards out of his reach. ‘Hey! Come on–

‘And you leave Tuk, the old Sullustan, alone,’ Master Arten scolded, ‘he hasn’t done anything to you. No more pulling his ears while he’s trying to sleep off a hangover. If I hear you’re giving beings trouble I’ll be back for my credits.’

Groaning and stamping his foot, ‘Fine, fine, we’re sorry. Right guys?’ Seemingly on cue each of them nodded in unison.

Master Arten only nodded in response, the chit finally floating down and staying in place long enough for Tombo to grab it out of the air. All four children gathered and scambled around the credit chit, each seemingly wanting to check and see if the credits were real. Calia really had no frame of reference for how much any amount of credits were worth, she had never used credits before, but judging by how excited the Gutterrunners were the chit must have represented quite a windfall to the children. 

Calia was once again impressed by Master Arten’s fine-tuned control of the Force as well. She had yet to see him use the Force in any dramatic showing of power, pushing a being off his feat or moving a heavy object, but the level of detail and precise control he had was quickly proving to be just as impressive, if not more so. He had been able to manipulate the chit in mid-air exactly as he intended without needing to direct it with a gesture, pass Calia the ration bars, and warn the Gutterrunners about keeping up their side of the deal, all at once. 

And with that, Master Arten turned to Calia and said, ‘Well, let’s go,’ but his words were followed by a discreet “OK” gesture, which she assumed must have been the equivalent of a wink for the blind jedi. He walked back towards the entrance they had come from, but Calia could feel he was more than taking his time.

Now it was time for Calia’s own performance. ‘Hey,’ she called out, ‘do not say anything about this to Master Arten, but have these too,’ revealing the ration bars from behind her back. The Gutterrunners nearly pounced on her, completely forgetting the credits for a moment, as the padawan handed each of them a ration bar. They each immediately tore into the wrappers and bit off large chunks of the chocolate without even taking the time to offer thanks. Calia, however, did not mind. She was busy grinning at how enthusiastically they were eating. The ration bars were not candy, they had the full nutritional values of a complete meal, and between their skinny bodies and the scattered junk food wrappers she knew they must not have been eating well.

Mara looked up, chocolate staining the corners of her mouth, her eyes meeting the padawan’s. Calia considered briefly how she could not have been more than ten, at Mara’s age she had never needed to take care of herself, she had been privileged with days of good company and study, a warm bed, and three nutritious meals each day. The younger girl suddenly elbowed Tombo in the ribs, again. Then made sure the other two boys were paying attention as well. She looked up at Calia again and in a confident, sincere voice said, ‘Thank you, Ms. Rayyah,’ followed by a chorus of other rushed thank you's from the boys who quickly went back to their treats.

Calia grinned again, a deep warmth blossoming in her chest, and the beginnings of tears welling up behind her eyes. She managed to sneak out a soft ‘your welcome,’ before her throat choked up completely. She found it hard to tear herself from the  _ gang_, she did not want to leave them to return to the dangerous life of duct rats, but knew she would wear out her welcome before long. 

She rejoined her master for the short walk through the plant back to their speeder. At first they did not speak, they did not need to. They each could feel the pangs of sadness mixed with joy from each other. Joy knowing they did something to help children in need, but sadness of how little it really was. The experience only left the young Padawan more confused about the task she was given by the Council. Here her master was, extracting vital information on criminal weapon smugglers, who knows what Darkstar would do to the children if they learned where Master Arten had learned about his illicit deals, but he had given them credits they desperately needed, indulged them in their fantasies about Jedi Knights, and even encouraged them to attend school more. 

_ She- she just wasn’t sure. _

The pair reentered the speeder. Calia let out a long sigh, feeling the energy drain from her shoulders. Master Arten seemed to notice, he self-consciously muttered, ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’

She turned towards him.  _ Did he know!? How could he? _

‘About the haggling,’ he offered, ‘I know you wanted to do more to help, but if we give them too much we’d just make them a target. Three-hundred and fifty credits is probably more than they’d see in a month as it is. They start spending too wildly and someone’s bound to mug them for whatever is left, or worse if they spent it all already. Hopefully, Chantara can get them out of the plant, a lot of the time once kids start going to her they keep going; she has a way.’

‘I understand Master.’ She really did, but was it enough?

‘Oh yeah, and ugh– those ration bars were our lunch. Let’s stop for street food somewhere, we should have time.

‘Sounds good Master.’

Master Arten powered up the speeder, and once again, they soared into the 1442’s skylanes.


	13. The Underlevel Detective in: At the Heart of the Darkstar

‘Well, this shipment is shaping up to be my biggest yet,’ Dak Darkstar thought out loud just under his breath. Standing atop the largest pile of the crates in the center of the court, filled to the brim with crisp, smooth, high-quality blasters, surveying his small but growing operation of just under a dozen beings, hard at work unpacking and inspecting their latest and largest shipment, he couldn’t help grinning and congratulating himself. All it took was a small bribe towards the fitness center’s administrator to get exclusive, 24 hour access to the grav-ball court. It couldn’t be better, indoors, secure, only two entrances, one at each end of the court, wide open enough to allow big shipments like tonight’s; secure and functional.

Dak Darstar ran a hand through his long thick hair which he kept tied back into a ponytail. While he was a human, born and raised on the surface, he always had yearned for adventures, like the ones he saw in his favorite holo-serials, and using his expertise in computer slicing (and a considerable investment from his parent’s assets) was able to get a foot in the door of underlevel trafficking, and so far it had been exactly how he had imagined it! He was making tons of credits (his armored duster and high-end custom blaster pistol spoke to that), had built up a good loyal crew, and things were only getting better. He had even finally attracted the eye of women too, Darkstar considered as he turned his eye towards the Zabrak girl pulling a DC-15s out of another crate. Despite Kaida being few years younger than him, and not human (Mother and Father would never approve), she was still pretty despite tribal-like markings on her face, and the series of small horns growing out of the top of her head resembling a crown. Oh! a crown! Maybe he could get a crown or something made for himself resembling Zabrak horns; “Dak Darkstar, king of the 1442,” has a nice ring to it. He was already ruling from his  _ court _ , it was perfect–

‘Darkstar!’ a gravelly, unfamiliar voice yelled out from behind his back, pulling the dealer form his fantasies. He looked over his shoulder, having a clear view of the stranger high up on top of his stack of the weapon crates. He looked human, was alone, wearing a hooded cloak which obscured most of his features.

_ Could it be? _

Darkstar turned, standing to face the stranger who had dared to challenge him, his crew dropping whatever they were doing, blasters drawn. ‘Yeah– ugh’ the dealer stuttered excited for his first real fight, ‘what’s it to you…’ pausing for dramatic effect, ‘stranger.’

‘In the name of the Republic and the Jedi Order–’  _ Pssshhew _ went the yellow blade which erupted to life in the figures hands while he spoke.

_ So blizz! _

‘You are under arrest.’

_ My first fight in the underlevels, and it’s a jedi! This is literally a dream come true! _

Darkstar wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, thought Arten, though maybe I should have considering how cheesy his alias was. When the jedi knight made his grand entrance to the grav-ball court, he had hoped to intimidate the dealer, instead it left the pudgy human almost bouncing with excitement. Even from the other side of the room Arten could feel the sheer giddiness radiating off him. Seeing him in the Force, the long greasy hair tied back in a ponytail, poorly trimmed beard, and ill-fitting clothing, Arten imagined he would be more comfortable behind a holo screen; not moving serious hardware in his district. The eleven other beings who had stopped their work and began slowly making their way towards him, but waiting for their boss’ go ahead were another story. For the most part, they were ready to end him with a deadly seriousness. 

‘So?’ Darkstar called to him, condescension dripping in his voice, ‘the Jedi Order has finally realized how much of a threat I am to their precious Republic?’

‘Wha–’ Arten couldn’t help but reflexively ask in confusion. Did this guy really think  _ the _ Order itself had taken an interest in him?

‘Don’t worry  _ Master Jedi _ ,’ Darkstar intoning the honorific title sarcastically, ‘I’ll make sure there’s enough left of you for the Council to identify. Men!’ he called sweeping his hands out over the various other beings, ‘surround the Jedi, try to shoot him from as many angles as possible at once. No matter how fast he is with that lightsaber, it can only be in one place at time.’

It seemed he wasn’t completely clueless, Arten considered as the thugs and toughs began to spread out and position themselves in his flanks. Not many beings were aware of tactics effective against a jedi, good thing he had backup.

And, as if right on cue, Darkstar went on, ‘Before you die Jedi, I just have to say, I think the biggest insult is that the Council thought it would only take one jedi to bring me down.’

Arten’s consciousness slipped into the Force, sending a momentary impulse, a signal, rippling out through its currents before answering, ‘Who said I came alone?’

_ Pssshhew,  _ went Calia’s lightsaber from the opposite entrance. Darkstar, and every other being in the room instinctively turned, surprised by the new threat. Arten couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as he felt the panic and surprise shear violently through Darkstar’s confidence. It wouldn’t be the only thing shearing through him in a moment. With all eyes turned on his Padawan’s cloaked form, Arten quickly drew his heavy blaster pistol from the holster on his side with his off-hand. Without the need to look down the blaster's sights he fired a shot into Darkstar’s left shoulder. The jedi hadn’t expected the human’s duster to be armored, especially armored enough to absorb one his blaster’s shots, but the force of the blast still sent Darkstar spinning as he tumbled off his perch to slam onto the ground hard without piercing the energy-dispersing fibers. Their boss incapacitated, for the moment at least, the rest of the crew erupted in anarchy. Some haphazardly firing at him, others firing towards Calia, and a few even frozen in indecision. Perfect, just as planned.

Arten deflected the few shots that soared towards him, and still using his blaster in one hand put– one, two, three shots into three different beings, aiming carefully to ensure none of the hits would be lethal. He holstered the pistol, the element of surprise being lost, he’d have to be more careful to protect himself from here on, and would need both hands for his lightsaber. Under different circumstances he might have been willing to hunker down behind a crate, blasting beings and deflecting the occasional shot, the safer more practical option in a spacious environment. However, Arten knew it was Calia’s first time in combat, and he had to do everything he could to draw as much attention away from her as possible.

On that note, Arten tensed his body, drawing the Force into himself. He leapt, no flew, flipping and turning as he soared through the air as if he was really playing grav-ball– the hawk-bat swoop, the foundational maneuver of From V, Ataru. He slashed with his lightsaber while in mid-air as he landed in front of a startled human. His initial attack cut the being’s blaster in two, and as he secured his footing he swung upwards, injuring the being’s arm. Just like with his earlier blaster shots, Arten was careful to injure his opponents enough to incapacitate them without doing any permanent damage if possible. 

The jedi knight turned to his right, the adrenaline and his Force enhanced reflexes slowing time to a crawl. He quickly felt one being directly in front of him trying line up a shot, while another two towards his left had their backs turned to him besides another crate trying to fire at his padawan. Arten had to move quickly, if Darkstar’s crew were given a chance to regroup the two Jedi wouldn’t last long. He leapt straight forward again, a shot flying by where he had been standing a moment before. Flipping through the air he landed with a thump on top of the crate behind where the two beings focused on Calia were, both turned shocked by the sudden sound and movement. He lashed out with a sharp kick to one smugglers nose, which exploded in a fountain of blood, as he slashed the other who went down cradling an injured shoulder. The being who had fired at him previously had sighted in on him again, but Arten was more than ready reflecting the bolt with a flourish, the being flying backwards off his feet as the bolt nailed him in the hip.

Three, one, plus two, and one, makes seven, so four more and Darkstar, assuming he’s still in the game. Arten was gritting his teeth, gathering the Force around and into him, preparing for another fight before he felt that there were only two of the beings still on their feet. Arten stepped forward towards the closer being. He could feel that they were so panicked and confused by the chaos they didn’t pose much of a threat. Arten turned the corner of the large central pile of boxes, a thin young Twi’lek male tightly gripping a blaster pistol to his chest. The Twi’lek whipped his blaster around wildly, wide-eyed with fear, lekku (long tendrils extending out of the top of his head) quivering, aimed straight between Arten’s eyes and tired to pull the trigger. However, the jedi sentinel was ready, with only a wave of his hand he had flicked the blaster’s safety on before the kid even thought to use it, then with a second small push through the Force, clonked the young being in the forehead with his own blaster, knocking him out cold. 

Sifting through the last embers of conflict in the Force, Arten felt that while none of the crew had died, the fight had gone out of them; all either too hurt to pose any danger, unconscious, or so demoralized they would come quietly. Well, all except for one, but he wouldn’t be a problem, Arten thought smiling feeling Darkstar’s predicament in the Force.

Arten casually walked to the opposite end of the grav-ball court, where Calia had cornered a terrified Darkstar into the far side of the court, lightsaber centimeters from his chest. She was shaking, but not from nerves or fear, but the lingering adrenaline and excitement. While his padawan had taken naturally to honing her fighting skills, was excelling even, the psychological and physiological reaction to her first taste of combat had nearly overwhelmed her. Still, she had done incredibly well. When the two of them first entered the health center, and  _ convinced _ the administrator with threats of aiding and abetting (to start), to give them access to the security cameras to devise their plan, Calia’s role was just to protect the rear entrance and keep herself safe. Standing in the doorway she would only have to worry about protecting her front, and none of these small-timers would dare approach a jedi in close-quarters (to most lightsabers are terrifying lethal weapons). All this left her with was deflecting any blaster bolts fired at her, but she had gone above and beyond disabling three of thugs on her own. 

Slowly, carefully, Arten placed a soothing hand on the girl’s shoulder. Calia turned rapidly, nearly swinging her lightsaber at her Master, but stopped recognizing him before it was too late. He was ready even if she had, remembering the fight or flight reflexes that where still guiding her actions that had previously overpowered his senses during his own early fights.

‘Oh Master,’ Calia called out in a startled tone between hurried breathes, ‘I was able to get a few, I think two, or was it three. I was able to reflect the bolts back at them, it was so much easier than I thought it would be, my training just took over, actually, it was even easier than training with the remote, it was like you said “the harder I train, the easier it will be when the time comes,"' she rambled off. ‘I even saw an opportunity and took it, one being was standing with the some crates to his back, and I used the Force to pull them down on top of him. Then– then, ugh, he–’ she continued, gesturing towards Darkstar with her still ignited lightsaber, nearly skewering the man who flinched back in terror, ‘he tried to shove his way past me, but I gathered the Force up in me, and pushed him backwards! Then I–’

Arten knew in her excitement Calia would keep going on and on, so he interrupted her saying in a calming voice, ‘Calia, take a deep breath, and shutoff your lightsaber.’

Her senses returning, the Padawan heeded his words. As if in sync, Calia exhaled deeply, and her lightsaber extinguished in turn. Arten could feel Darkstar’s eyes moving between the now inert saber, and the still open exit; Arten quickly eliminating any thoughts of escape, holding up his blade to the cornered weapons dealer’s protruding gut.

His hand still resting on Calia’s shoulder, Arten calmly and softly spoke to her saying, ‘You did good, okay? You’re safe.’ He could feel the built up tension and survival reflexes continue to gradually deflate out of her, the girl’s senses returning. After giving her a few more moments to re-collect her thoughts, Arten told her, ‘Ok, we’re only half done though. We need to subdue all of the beings, and stabilize any of them with more serious injuries. You get started on that, I’ll radio the Underworld Police and they can take over from there.’

‘What!?’ Calia called out in shock, herself once again. ‘Wait. Why didn’t we call them for backup before? We could have really used the help!’

Of course, the two were so wrapped up in following their leads he had forgot to explain. ‘Those scavengers?’ he began, ‘Ha, their only concerned with making sure the underlevel's problems don’t bleed up into the surface. They’d never help us out just because we asked. Taking credit for catching a major weapons smuggler though, they’ll be here in a matter of minutes.’

Though he sensed an air of dissatisfaction with his answer, she seemed to at least accept it for the moment. She’d learn soon enough, Arten concluded to himself. ‘Now let’s go over how to read a being their rights before you cuff them,’ Arten announced pulling one of the small, disposable plastic cuffs off his survival belt as he turned his head towards a still quivering Darkstar. ‘Sooner we’re done, the sooner we can celebrate. Your first collar is a special occasion.’


	14. An Underlevel Sunrise

Calia was exhausted. Stepping back into the safehouse, all she could think about was how soft and comfortable she imagined her bed to be. She could almost feel the cool rush of her face hitting the pillow. From when Master Arten had first returned after Calia had finished her training, through capturing Darkstar and his crew and turning them over to the underworld police for booking, it had now been nearly a full twenty-four hours. The Padawan could feel a heaviness pulling at the edges of her face, and a puffy heat surrounding each of her eyes, not unlike how she felt when she stayed up most of the night watching her drama-holos. She was glad she was able to talk Master Arten out of going to Mel’s to celebrate with the Merguntan and Tuk if he was around. It would have made for an…interesting celebration, but she had had enough adventures for one day.

As she considered just how much more exhausting  _ that _ experience would be, she saw Master Arten preparing a cup of caf in the kitchen as she passed on her way up to her own room, she suddenly realized that he had spent the last _two_ days awake. Stopping, she recalled how he had just returned after a full night out before inviting her to accompany him as he continued his investigation. Then she considered having to do everything they had done together, coaxing information out of Tuk, meeting Ms. Chanta, tracking down the Gutterrunners, and even combating Darkstar, feeling how she felt now. Just the concept seemed nigh impossible. 

She watched Master Arten reach up into a cupboard above the caf machine as steam continued wafting up from its nozzle, and pull out a large glass bottle filled with a vibrant amber liquid. ‘Oh,’ he called without turning to her, ‘I was just going to– well, why don’t you join me? Least I can do.’ 

‘Huh?’ Calia began to say before being interrupted by Master Arten saying, ‘I’ll make you a cup too, decaffeinated, and will meet you up on the roof.’

‘Ok,’ Calia responded somewhat halfheartedly. She had been looking so forwards to just getting some sleep, but she supposed her Master must have wanted to speak to her about the previous night while the experience was still fresh. Though, she did choose to at least splash some cold water onto her face, both to refresh and give herself a bit of energy before going up to the roof. Feeling cleaner and chasing away her fatigue temporarily, Calia began the short climb up the stairs from the second floor to the safehouse’s roof. While she had yet to visit the roof (she never had a reason to) she knew it was somewhat of an anomaly. Most buildings in the underlevels, that were not poorly cobbled together shacks and homes, were ancient towers whose foundation lay leauges below them and extended well up to the surface, the safehouse by contrast was completely independent and self contained. As such, its “groundfloor” was really the ground floor, and it’s uppermost level had several dozen meters of open air before the “ceiling.” As Calia pressed the door control, she realized how the safehouse may have blended in with all the other buildings of the underlevels when she had first arrived, now it stuck out like a single star in the sky. No wonder Master Arten had found the smugglers.

Speaking of Master Arten, he was already there, leaning back on a metal folding chair with his legs crossed and feet resting on the edge of the waist-high ferrocrete barrier separating the rooftop from a long fall. Next to his boots were two steaming cups, and she saw the bottle resting on the ground next to him. Calia thought how she would have to bring up to Master Arten about not wearing his boots, which had stomped all throughout the underlevels indoors, as she walked and sat down on a second identical folding chair next to him. 

Unsure of what to say, taking a deep breathe of crisp early morning air through her nose (crisp for the underlevels), she took the caf he had set out in front of her chair. She felt the warmth of the drink through the ceramic cup, hot but not enough to be painful. Calia began lifting it to her mouth, planning to blow on the caf before taking a sip. However, Master Arten suddenly rousing, excitedly said to her, ‘Wait, wait wait.’ Sitting up, he reached for the bottle and unscrewed the top. He gestured towards the still steaming cup, smiling. Calia, somewhat credulously, held out her drink for him as he poured just a tiny splash of the amber liquid from the bottle into her mug. Master Arten then poured a second considerably larger portion into his own cup, before replacing the cap and setting the bottle back down. He extended his index finger over the black liquid and swirled it in a spinning motion, Calia could see the Force gently stirring the drink, no spoon required. Her Master’s in the temple would have chided her for using the Force in such an irreverent manner as Master Arten was, but they were not here right now, she thought as she stirred her own drink the same way. 

‘Well?’ Master Arten asked, ‘try it.’

Without answering, and very suspicious of the wide grin plastered across her Master’s face, Calia took a small sip. At first nothing seemed unusual, she had only tried caf once or twice, but the bitter taste was still familiar, but then, he tongue exploded with a scorching tang. She felt her throat lurch and her eyes water, as she forced the drink down, burning like acid all the way. 

Calia was left hacking and coughing more tears forming, as Master Arten chuckled and said, ‘Yeah, no one likes whis’ee’kay at first,’ as he took a large swig from his own cup. Determined to prove him wrong, she took another even smaller sip. Prepared for the burning sensation this time, she could taste what she assumed must have been the alcohol adding another dimension of flavor to the caf. The natural bitterness was contrasted with a sweet heat that lingered on her tongue well after she swallowed, leaving her with a warm full feeling in her stomach. Cali had had enough of the caf though, setting the cup back unto the barrier in front of her. She looked out over the roof and observed the underlevel “skyline.” The two sat in silence for a time; content to just enjoy the twinkling lights and errant sounds of the early twilight, before life returned in earnest to the underlevels.

‘Calia,’ Master Arten said breaking the hushed tranquility, ‘I just wanted to tell you, you did good tonight. Better than I could have imagined. Better than I could have ever done in your place. Your assignment wasn’t fair, the Council knew that.’

_ No, it is not. _

‘You’ve adapted faster and more thoroughly than I’d ever imagine any being raised on the surface could.' Chuckling he continued. 'Oh yeah, I got a comm from the Underworld Police about Darkstar while I was making the caf. He’s from the surface too, real name Alec Gurian. Seems he’s from a very successful family, and just came down here to play pretend. Makes me sick,’ Master Arten derided, revulsion dripping in his voice as he took another swig of his spiked caf.

_ Am I that different? _

‘Well, what matters is that we got him. We’ll interrogate him together tomorrow, try to figure out where he was getting his supply from’ Master Arten said turning to her with a proud smile. She tried to return to gesture, but found her heart wasn’t in it. Could he tell? He could not see her face, but would he feel her deception in the Force?

‘Anyway, thing is, I wanted to say I’m sorry,’ he said with a somber hush pulling at him, as if he was ashamed he needed to say it at all. 

_ For what? _

‘When we first met, I was angry. Not at you, but I took it out on you anyway. I should have been more patient and empathetic, like my master was.’ He chuckled to himself, ‘Oh boy, if my master saw how I treated you, he’d have crushed me on the spot, maybe literally,’ smiling warmly in nostalgia.

‘Your master?’ Calia asked leaning forward resting her elbows on her thighs.

‘Ok, ok, I’ll tell you about your  _ grand-master_,’ Master Arten responded with another whole-hearted laugh at his own terrible joke. Once again, Calia didn’t find it funny but appreciated the effort.

‘Master Entum Medicum, he’s a Muun, and I know what your thinking, “Aren’t the Muuns all selfish bankers.” Well you’d be half right. Master Medicum uses his species’ natural affinity with numbers and management, combined with his Force-borne wisdom and foresight, to organize a massive relief effort down here on the underlevels. He finds the funds for and manages the distribution of food, medicine, education, and more for multiple levels; that’s billions of beings who very well may owe their lives to him.’ Master Arten paused, taking a slow, deep breathe. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words followed. Calia could feel through the Force that there was something he was holding back. A deep pain which was trying to break to the surface. 

‘Anyway,’ Master Arten said as she felt his pain sink back into the depths of his spirit, ‘As Jedi, we are taught to dedicate ourselves to the Force, in all its forms. Master Medicum taught me the Force isn’t just some ephemeral energy, floating though the universe; it exists in every single being. He was the one who showed me that despite how violent, or dangerous, or painful life in the underlevels can be, life– all life– is beautiful, and should be protected. Many– no most of the beings down here will never see the surface again. If they’ve ever seen it. Hmph, most will be born, live, and die down here without ever seeing the sun. They’ll never feel a real sunrise, a cool breeze, a soft rain, even a tiny patch of green. That’s why we do this. The Council and Republic seems to believe the underlevels are a lost cause, or they just don’t care, but each and every being matters.’ He capped off his statement by swallowing the last of his caf as he sat forward resting his arms on the barrier.

Calia had been staring out into the distance as she listened. She didn’t feel the need to say anything. She could see lights beginning to bloom into being throughout the horizon laid out before her. Twinkles and sparks here and there which together formed an aurora to rival any star. She could feel her breathe catch in the throat as she marveled at how something could look so perfect, but could represent so much pain.

‘The sunrise sure is something isn’t Calia?’ Master Arten asked. 

‘It is,’ she responded. A thought struck her without warning, ‘Master, how can you see it?’ His vision could not perceive light…

_ How!? How could she say something so insensitive!? He had finally opened up to her and she– _

‘Calia, I wasn’t talking about the lights.’ 

_ What did he?– _

‘Close your eyes, and really look.’

She did, and the Force, seemingly of its own accord, pulled her from herself. Floating, ethereal, Calia found her consciousness moving, pulled in seemingly every direction simultaneously. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once. She could see, no feel beings as her spirit soared. 

_ Tired, hungry, and lonely. Waking up to face another struggle, but wishing that maybe today things would be better. The new day containing just as much dread as it did hope. Having nothing and everything to look forward to _

__

_ Warmth. Two beings, lovers, waking up next to each other. Comfort in their embrace and their spirits. Weary to be separated, but enjoying those few brief moments where the whole universe rests within each other. _

__

_ Pain, a racking cough, sore limbs, and tired eyes. Hurting for something they know won’t make their pain go away, but just hold it at bay a little longer. Knowing they’ll only lose more of themselves. Knowing they shouldn’t, but not knowing what else to do.  _

__

_ Love, looking down over a child, still deep in their dreams. Wishing to just stay there forever, but knowing they’d have to wake them, be separated by them, but be sustained by them until they are reunited. Doing any and everything for them.  _

Calia almost couldn’t bear it. Life– the very spirit of the Force itself, blooming around her as beings were waking after a long night. Facing down the joys and sorrows of a new day. Beauty and tragedy, light and dark, dread and hope, all interconnected and interwoven throughout each and every life. She found her spirit finally back in herself. Shocked and out of breathe, it had felt like a lifetime had passed in an instant as she collapsed into the back of the cold, hard, metal chair on the quiet rooftop. Hot tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

‘Sure hits hard the first time huh?’ 

She looked towards the sound of the voice, as unfamiliar as her new life forever changed. She saw Master Arten smiling, a bright beaming smile of pure joy; rapture. He had taken his bandages off, crumpled in his hands, and she saw his eyes for the first time. Nearly completely milky white, with just faint traces of a pupil and cornea. Painful scars, a lattice of damaged flesh surrounding both eyes as if they had been violently burned. He had long streaks of tears rolling down his cheeks too. 

Beautiful and tragic.


	15. The Dark Side: Part 1

‘Ok, I think we’re ready to bring in Darkstar now,’ Master Arten said into his commlink, held offhandedly as he slumped back into his chair. ‘No rush, though,’ he added running his other hand through his especially frazzled hair. 

Sitting next to him in the small interrogation room inside the district's Underwold Police precinct, completely bare except for a frigid, sterile, metal table with one chair on either side (they had to bring in an extra for Calia to use), no windows, no decorations, and only stale stagnant air, Calia felt she was the one imprisoned. The pair had been at it for– how long had it been? There were no chronos in the room, and Calia never had a reason to where one on her wrist either. Of course, Calia thought as she looked to the datapad she had been taking notes on for Master Arten. While it was quite inefficient for him to constantly lean towards her and whisper what fact, name, or date he wanted recorded, but due to his perceptions being solely tied to the Force he had no way to read digital text, so she was willing to be of aid to him in this way. In the corner of the datapad’s display read the time, Calia groaned internally when she realized Master Arten and her had been interrogating Darkstar’s team for over seven hours. Thankfully, when they had first begun Master Arten had informed her they would be interrogating each of Darkstar’s team individually, before trying to gather information from Darkstar himself, so they would be done for the day once they had finished with the leader. According to him the “little fish” were only really worth interrogating for information to use in bringing their employer, the “bigger fish,” to justice; who you hoped would help you bring down an even _bigger_ fish. 

So far, the interrogations had not been what Calia imagined they would be. A UWPD officer would sit down the being, still bandaged and visibly pained due to their previous injuries from the two Jedi. Seeing the results of her own actions, direct or indirect, did make her somewhat uncomfortable. She never considered what happens to a being after being brought to justice by the jedi. Regardless, Master Arten would initially ignore them for a short time, staring in their direction; Calia could see how it left them unnerved. Two jedi, especially one who was blind, would have been concerning enough without considering how they were the cause of their current injuries and incarceration. Master Arten would then begin asking seemingly basic questions, question she knew he already had the answers to. It was a familiar negotiating tactic, probing the other side for what they know, confirming what you know, and testing if they can be trusted to be truthful. In fact, these interrogations were eerily similar to her mock negotiations as an apprentice. 

Though, if that was the case, Master Arten would be a very... aggressive negotiator. He would ask questions rapidly, barely giving the being time to answer before moving to the next. If they faltered or stumbled in thier response he would quickly move in to press the perceived weakness, asking for more detailed explanations. Who they were? How they became involved with Darkstar? How many shipments they had moved up to their capture? Gathering bits and snippets of information from each being they interrogated until it painted a consistent picture. Typically, they were young, poor, uneducated beings, promised good credits with simple safe work hauling boxes with the guarantee of no police involvement. They would receive a communication from Darkstar, and then move a shipment into the grav-ball arena. The _merchandise_ would then be divided between themselves, who would then move them to other intermediaries for sale. Most of the beings did not even seem to be aware of the gravity of dealing in military-grade blasters, and Calia supposed that was both by Darkstar’s design and intentional ignorance to protect their own conscious. 

During the interrogations Master Arten never backed down, never gave them any space, the most he would offer them in exchange for their cooperation was not adding _additional_ charges of obstruction of justice. He would ask Calia for some obscure fact or snippet of information from another interrogation she thought insignificant, and would use it to reveal an inconsistency or inaccuracy in the being’s statement. The padawan was impressed by his skill and ruthlessness, he had gotten more information and testimony than she imagined she would have ever been able to, but she was also alarmed by how hard he pushed the beings. Not only was it considered poor tactics, as a hostile relationship often hurts your position more in the long-run, it was also unnerving on a personal level. These beings seemed relatively, well, innocent. Most were only a few years older than Calia was, and they did not seem to know much beyond what Master Arten had already gathered from his previous investigations. To her, they seemed to be just as much Darkstar’s victims as his accomplices. More than once she had felt her nerves set on edge by a harsh word or shouted threat. 

As if sensing her unease and exhaustion, Master Arten turned his head towards her (it seemed he was practicing looking at beings when he spoke to them), ‘We shouldn’t be too much longer. I don’t think a sheltered surface punk slumming it in the underlevels will be a tough toca nut to crack.’ Calia found the metaphor somewhat viscerally disturbing in their current context. ‘Hopefully we can take the rest of the afternoon off once we finish. Maybe we can go by Trakan’s? Best fish in the underlevels. Maybe we can bring Mel and his family along? They love a fish dinner. Mel likes you, and you haven’t met his family yet, his wife and twenty-three children.’ 

_Twenty-three children!_ The Padawan was shocked momentarily, but then she considered how many species biology resulted in a different standards on what constitutes a family, by Merguntan standards twenty-three could have been a small household. Regardless though, the long hours Mel seemed to spend running the _Saarlac_ _Pit_ must have made it exceedingly difficult for him to spend time with so many children. She smiled imagining a crowded restaurant packed with laughing children excited for a night out with two Jedi. Another jolt of interest passed through once she considered that she herself had never been to a restaurant as well. However, she could feel the creeping weariness already nagging at her, having only a few hours rest the previous night followed by the long difficult day of interrogations. 

‘Master,’ she answered, ‘while that sounds lovely, perhaps we can simply retire for the evening and rest? Maybe another time soon?’ 

‘Eh, you’re right’ he answered, ‘hopefully this will be the end of new weapons coming in, but there are plenty still on the streets. Not to mention we’ll have more work once we learn how or from whom Darkstar was getting the weapons. If he found a “leak” in the supply chain somewhere it should be easy enough to seal it up once we know where to look. However, if its someone else higher up supplying him, that’s a lot more trouble. Depending on who and where the weapons were coming from it could mean many more sleepless nights.’ Calia felt a miasma of dread pass over her. She felt completely spent after just a single protracted night, she had been looking forward to maybe a day or two to just rest. 

Once again, Master Arten seemed aware of his Padawan’s distress and offered to her, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be coming out with me every single night. You still have plenty of training to catch up on. Just be ready for the occasional evening out, so no more all nighters watching holo-dramas.’ 

At once Calia felt relieved to know he was not expecting her to being immediately working with him each and every night, but mortified that he had somehow learned of her holo-drama addiction. ‘Of course Master, my apologies,’ she curtly responded somewhat flustered. 

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Master Arten said a laugh permeating his words, ‘I was a kid fresh out of the temple’s supervision once too. I’m just warning you for your sake. You want to have some rest before investigating, and I won’t be able to know too far in advance when it would be a good night to bring you along,’ he added trying to put her further at ease. ‘Yesterday was exceptional though, normally it’s not quite so action packed. I wouldn’t have taken you along had I known how bad it would be, but you did good anyway. So, ugh, try not to worry yourself, you can handle anything’ patting her on the back playfully. 

Calia was about to thank Master Arten for his kind words, when suddenly the door to their backs slid open. She turned in her chair and saw an Underworld Police Officer, in full equipment of heavy leather and metal armor, a helmet which completely obscured his face, with built in goggles which gave the officer both a sense of unease and authority, not unlike Master Arten. The officer had a disheveled Darkstar in tow, whose hands were bound behind his back, impertinently struggling as he was pulled into the interrogation chamber. The officer crudely pushed the weapons dealer into the chair opposite where Calia and Master Arten were sitting, and eager to return to his regular duties the policeman turned his head and asked, his voice gruff and synthesized by the mask’s audio output, ‘You want him cuffed still?’ 

Master Arten leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table said, ‘Go ahead and uncuff him. I’m confident we can handle anything he can throw at us. I mean, we did once already,’ adding a sarcastic smirk to which Darkstar huffed in indignation. Without any further comments the policeman roughly undid the energy cuffs, leaving Darkstar rubbing sore wrists from where the miniature particle fields would mildly stun his muscles as he fought against them. 

Finally, calmly, face to face with the smuggler (last time she confronted him, Calia was somewhat…overcharged with adrenaline) she could see just how out of place he was compared to most beings of the underlevels. He was the first being should could recall who had any excess weight, his clothing, though his armored duster had been confiscated, was still clean and of good quality, and most notably he had an aura of confidence; no doubts about where he was going or what he would be doing next, which was somewhat concerning considering he had been caught dealing in military-grade weapons and could be facing serious time in a prison on a remote inhospitable world. 

‘So?’ Master Arten began, ‘Did you sleep okay? Not too uncomfortable Mr. Gurian?’ Darkstar said nothing, doing his best to look as if he was not paying attention as he ignored the jedi’s words. 

‘Is there anything you’d like?’ Master Arten went on paying no attention to Darkstar’s impotent resistance, ‘How about a caf?’ 

Nothing. 

‘How’s your shoulder? Hmm?’ Master Arten’s tone making sure the irony of his question was not lost on Darkstar. ‘Did you get that looked at? Must be painful, we can call you a medic, or maybe– hey Calia, would you be so kind to look at Mr Gurian’s injury?’ 

Calia suspected what Master Arten was getting at, and she did not appreciate being used as a prop in his performance, but dutifully did as he bade her. Standing up, she warily moved to the other side of the table, her reflexes ready for any sign of aggression in Darkstar’s aura in the Force. Following Master Arten’s command she stood behind the smuggler and gently pulled his undershirt aside slightly, the skin around his shoulder was discolored by a large purple and blue swath that spread out in every direction from a red ring at its epicenter where his jacket had absorbed Master Arten’s blaster shot. Just looking at the bruise made Calia’s own skin feel sore and tender, but Darkstar was fortunate not to have needed a serious hospital visit like the rest of his crew had, as each of them had some assortment of bandages or braces on their figures as they had been interviewed earlier. 

Only moments after her brief examination Darkstar pulled his clothing back in place roughly before grumbling, ‘I’m fine. That’ll be all,’ he said to her in a voice which seemed accustomed to giving commands. 

Leaning back in his chair, Master Arten said to him, ‘Nonsense. Calia, do you think Mr. Gurian requires any further care?’ 

Picking up the impromptu cue, she stood up straight, and in a calm monotone voice diagnosed him as, ‘While painful, his injury should not pose any threat to life,’ before promptly returning to her own seat. 

She could see her Master’s tactics begin to take shape. Darkstar was clearly well-educated, knowing he was under no obligation to speak to any authority without an advocate present. So Master Arten had set to provoking him, pushing his buttons, trying solicit an emotional reaction. It seemed to be working as Darkstar appeared to be growing increasingly flustered by how the jedi had drawn so much attention to the still tender injury they themselves had inflicted on him. 

‘So _Darkstar_ ,’ Master Arten announced, being sure to sarcastically draw attention to the ridiculousness of the pseudonym, ‘If you’re feeling well, let’s get down to business then, shall we? My padawan and myself caught you in the act of distributing military-grade Republic weapons. That’s serious time. Might even be on a prison planet: scorching deserts, eternal night, continual bombardment by solar radiation, all day every day. Do those things sound appealing? I have plenty to put you away on, your crew was quite cooperative.’ He was bluffing, most of the crew knew nothing about who Darkstar was, or what they were doing. They were little more than hired hands. ‘If you tell me where the hole in the Republic’s munitions chain is or the name of whoever was supplying you, and I keep the more egregious details to myself. You’ll probably at least get to stay on Coruscant.’ 

Calia observed how for the first time in Master Arten’s “negotiations,” he had actually offered something in exchange, though it had amounted to little. She had been taught, and in her own experience, the best tactic was to lead your opponent into believing they were walking away the winner. To her it seemed Master Arten’s antagonistic approach was just as likely to push Darkstar away as it was to encourage him to cooperate. Not to mention how if he called the jedi’s bluff, it would leave Master Arten without any options. Though, she supposed, this was not a negotiation, but an interrogation. Perhaps, this opening salvo was just meant to go across Darkstar’s bridge, to communicate the seriousness of what was happening. 

If that had been the intention it had failed. As after a brief pause to consider Master Arten’s words the man leaned towards Master Arten and said, ‘I’m not saying anything, _Jedi_. You see, you might have gotten lucky when you interrupted my business, but it’s just a set-back. I’m sure my advocate is already on his way here, and considering the inordinate sum of credits I pay to keep him on retainer, I’m sure I’ll be out of here before the day’s out.’ 

Calia could feel the emotions springing from her Master, now he was the one beginning to lose his cool. Though so far he had maintained his steely exterior, she was not sure how much longer he could continue however as Darkstar went on, ‘I suppose, theoretically of course, if I was involved in the dealings I am accused of, once free I could easily just move to another part of Coruscant. It’s a big planet. Just find a level or district which lacks a jedi presence, since we know the Underworld Police could care less so long as my operations are well below the surface.’ The padawan could feel the seething emotions which were beginning to boil within Master Arten, but she could feel his meditations on the Force, as he tried to calm himself; which seemed to be working, but she was unsure how much more of Darkstar’s obnoxious, flippant, attitude he could tolerate before the floodgates are overwhelmed. 

Calia realized she was holding her breath. 

‘Gurian,’ Master Arten murmured under his breath, ‘you realize your actions have a very real cost, right? Beings will– have, died because of you. Have you ever seen a being die? Watched the life fade from their eyes? 

I have. 

I was the one killing them. 

Criminals, like you, determined to hurt others.’ Calia felt a chill run up her back at hearing such…dark, disturbing, imagery from her Master, but it seemed to have the desired effect of putting Darkstar back on the defensive, as she saw him squirm like a worm away from her Master’s gaze in his seat. Master Arten paused to let his bleak words continue to seep into the man, before provoking him, ‘No, not like you. Those beings I fought were dangerous. A threat. You’re just a fat, pompous, pampered, privileged child playing pretend!’ 

Master Arten seemed to have hit a sore nerve, as Darkstar suddenly turned his full gaze on Master Arten yelling, ‘And what are you?! You grew up on the surface too! Huh!? What makes you different? Putting a tough guy routine on me, you’re no different. We’re the same! At least I don’t pretend playing with the lives of underlevel nobodies is for some greater purpose. I could blow away some underlevel filth on the street and no one would do or say anything. The lives of all of Coruscant’s gutter trash are just a waste of resources anyway, might as well provide important beings like us with some entertainment. What you're doing here, is– is pointless. I’ll be back out there by tomorrow, well after a visit to the spa and a nice steak,’ Darkstar’s voice almost giddy as he ranted, ‘and I’ll be back to _playing pretend_ in no time. Huh?! Got nothing to say?’ 

Master Arten sat as still and silent as stone. 

‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me. There’s nothing you can do at all. The underlevels are a lost cause, better to just let them burn themselves out and rebuild. Hah! I guess I’m actually helping that process along. I guess I’m doing more good than you Jedi!’ Darkstar’s ramblings were becoming more unhinged, deranged, as if he had tasted blood. ‘You lost _Jedi!_ ’ He finished his rant, standing, hands on the table, breathing heavily. 

The Padawan expected even more mounting anger from her Master. Instead, his emotions were– gone. He was a blank void, as if he had completely drawn all feeling inwards, steeling himself for, for something. She felt afraid. 

‘You are right,’ Master Arten said in disturbingly calm voice. ‘I did lose. I lost, as a Jedi.’ 


	16. The Dark Side: Part 2

Master Arten stood up, and held his hand out. The camera nestled into the upper corner of the room suddenly sparked and went slack, the lens pointing to the floor. 

_ Why would– he could not– _

Suddenly, without a word he turned and left the room, leaving Calia alone with Darkstar. She could see on his face that the bloodlust and fervor he had worked himself into had quickly worn away, and the same creeping dismay that was worming its way through Calia’s core was cleaving into the recesses of his mind as well. It was not knowing what Master Arten was planning, was doing, that made the silent room so terrible. Calia knew her master well enough to know that disabling the camera before he left was intentional, another of his mind games, but this did not feel like it was just a game. She was feeling nauseous. The Force in the room was, it was sick, tainted by– no, it could not be. Tainted by something dark, by the dark side? Calia had never felt the dark side before, how could she be sure this was it, she had only ever been given warnings to be aware of the darkness, but no knowledge of what it was actually like. Maybe this was something else, just a disturbance in the Force, it may have nothing to do with her master’s intentions.

She was wrong. 

Just then, as her mind somersaulted and spun in an attempt to find any other explanation, he returned, stomping back into the interrogation chamber with the Zabrak girl they had spoken to earlier, Kaida. Calia recalled how scared the girl was during their previous interrogation. The other young woman could not have been any older than Calia, and seemed terrified by the two jedi. Particularly of Master Arten, since she was wearing a sling from where he had slashed at her arm just below the shoulder. Calia had gotten the impression she was especially ignorant of what she had involved herself in, and it was not until her encounter Master Arten that the seriousness of her situation became a reality. The concept reminded Calia of a certain someone…

She might have recalled the comparison more fondly if not for the abject horror now on the girl’s face, as Master Arten violently threw her forward leaving her bowed over the table. Darkstar tried to jump forward and catch her reflexively, but a sudden invisible push through the Force sent him reeling back into his seat. Calia only sat frozen, the darkness around her rising and whirling, as if it was coiling around her throat, slowly tightening. 

Master Arten grabbed the other girl’s shoulder hard pinning it to the table. He looked up at Darkstar, whose face was growing redder and flushed with both physical and emotional exertion as he struggled against the invisible bonds in vain. ‘What’s the matter Darkstar? Got nothing to say? Huh!?’ Master Arten snarled as he took hold of Kaida’s sling in his free hand, ripping it off her as she yelped in surprise and pain, the bandages tearing at the still fresh gash deep in her shoulder. Calia could see where the heat of the lightsaber had burned the edges of the wound black, before looking up to see the girl sobbing with chest wracking heaves as fresh blood began to trickle from the wound. 

A sense of calm returned to Master Arten’s voice as he purred, ‘See, I could feel how sweet on you she was every time I mentioned your name. Quite infatuated in fact, despite how you’re nearly twice her age.’ Darkstar’s expression of defiance and anger was crumbling, seeds of doubt and fear blossoming deep within him. Her master continued, ‘Since you’re so knowledgeable about the Jedi, and life in the underlevels as well, you must be aware of how easily lightsaber wounds can get infected? That’s the thing about cutting with super-heated plasma, burns get  _ the worst _ infections. Especially with the disgusting hygiene of– what did you call them? Gutter trash? Anyway, it’d be a tragedy if she lost an arm to a bad infection–’ his lightsaber appeared in his hand and ignited– _ Psshhew. _The once soft glow now harsh and unforgiving. Master Arten punctuated this threat by stabbing his saber down through the table, just a short distance from where he had Kaida pinned. ‘It’s like you said though, “who cares?”’ 

Master Arten removed his hand from the girls shoulder, but she only twisted and grimaced in pain between choking sobs as she struggled in vain as the Force kept her pinned to the table. Her injured arm suddenly swung out sharply, before stopping dead suddenly like a puppet on a marionette, evoking another startled cry as it was held out flat between the edge of the table and where Master Arten’s saber pierced it, the molten metal at the juncture glowing in a red-hot puddle. 

‘You were right Mr. Gurian, I can’t hurt you. Her though,’ he said gesturing towards the crying being forced down by invisible hands, ‘she’s just an underlevel nobody. Who cares?’ With these final words Calia's Master began to, excruciatingly slowly, drag the saber through the table towards Kaida’s injured immobilized arm; the blade’s slow inexorable trajectory going straight towards her existing injury.

This had to be a bad dream, a nightmare. The Force flowed around her as oily shadows, whispered words of pain, grief, and fear, but also whispers of excitement and violence flowing around and through her. _Yes! Do it, make sure she suffers_. The ephemeral voices seemed to speak, her blood surging through her veins. She felt helpless as an icy lanced bored into her heart.

Darkstar struggled, just as helpless, yelling ‘Stop! Stop please! She doesn’t know anything!’

Master Arten said nothing, as impassive as durasteel.

‘Please, I– I’m sorry. Please just stop. Stop! This isn’t the Jedi way!’ Darkstar screamed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he tried to jump over the table, before he has pushed back by the Force once again.

‘You did this,’ Master Arten casually announced, ‘I tried to do this the Jedi way. I lost. So now we’re doing it the underlevel way.’

‘I can’t tell you, They’ll– They’ll kill all of us if they find out we talked to a Jedi.’

‘Who!?' Master Arten roared, the saber suddenly jumping closer to Kaida. The pool of molten metal was simmering and bubbling next to the Zabrak girl’s arm as she cried in pain and terror.

‘I can’t!’ Darkstart pleaded, ‘If I do we’re all dead. Please. Please! PLEASE! Just stop! Please!’

Master Arten just “stared” at him. Calia could feel her Master’s simmering anger pulsating off him in waves, like a horrible, hideous, heartbeat.

_ None of this made any sense. Master Arten must know better. This deal makes not make sense for Darkstar. One girl’s arm, in exchange for his life and the lives of the rest of the crew. It did not matter if he had feelings for Kaida, the deal just did not make sense objectively. He wll not talk. He won’t talk! It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense! Why–so why is he still doing it. His bluff has been called. It’s time to try something else.  _

_ This doesn’t make sense. _

_ This doesn’t make sense.  _

_ How– This doesn’t–  _

_ It–  _

‘Please Master Jedi,’ Darkstar pleaded in on final desperate attempt, ‘I don’t have any choice…please just don’t.’

The blade stopped. Master Arten, almost whispering said, ‘You had a choice, you had every choice imaginable, but you chose to play pretend. The beings who died, who are going to die, gunned down by the weapons you smuggled in, they didn’t.’ 

Defeated, broken, Darkstar slumped down against the table, sobbing, but unable to tear his eyes away. The lightsaber’s blade, the same blade Calia believed was being used to protect the innocent just moments ago, reached Kaida’s arm. She yelped and cried as she tried to twist her body away as the blade began to burn away her already scarred flesh, but the Force was stronger, far stronger. 

The Force was stronger.

Master Arten flew backwards crashing into the wall of the interrogation chamber, landing on the floor in a disheveled heap. Calia found herself standing, one hand held flat outstretched towards her master, the other hand holding his lightsaber. She was shaking, hot tears streaming down her face like a cascade, but her expression was defiant, proud. The creeping darkness that had nearly swallowed her, had nearly swallowed her Master, was held at bay, but not banished. 

The next few minutes passed in a blur, Calia barely aware of what was happening as she seemed to move and act without thinking. She remembered Master Arten standing, and looking into her wordlessly before walking out of the chamber. She remembered helping Kaida, drying tears with the sleeve of her robes as she waited for a medic, a medic who did not seem the least bit surprised or shocked by the girl’s condition. She remembered drifting through the station, not bothering to restrain Darkstar, she doubted he’d ever be a threat to anyone ever again. Calia retraced her steps until she was back outside, the stale air and acrid smoke typical of any given street in the underlevels smelled fresh and clean compared to the stench of ozone and molten metal. Her Master was standing at the base of the steps leading up to the precinct, his cloak billowing around his legs with a tepid breeze.

She could feel in the Force his anger and frustration, but the darkness had seeped out of him, leaving him a tired hollow echo of the jedi she had slowly gotten used to.

‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ he asked, not bothering to turn and face her. ‘Now he knows you’ll step in and save him, or at least thinks you will. He’ll never talk, and his advocate will be here soon anyway. He’s won.’

She did not believe the shattered sobbing man had won anything. In a shameful moment of grim humor, she considered at least he could afford therapy.

Master Arten stopped, exhaling a long tired breath, his resigned words told her, ‘We have nothing now. No, less than nothing. You know the one thing we did learn? We learned that Darkstar was just another supplier, just another link in the chain, whoever is moving these weapons will just find someone else; someone who’s going to be even more careful now.’

He moved, as if to turn to face her, but he stopped. ‘Beings are going to die.’

Calia felt any lingering warmth rush from her face, stabbing needles mocking the empty flesh. The knowledge of how she had pushed the scales of life and death assaulting her.

He did not say anything else, they both knew there was nothing else to say. She watched as he walked off alone.

During the short cab ride back to the safehouse, on her own for the first time, Calia had some time to think. Was the jedi she saw in that chamber really the kind, if awkward, man she had trained with? Or was that jedi who he really was all along? She recalled Master Drallig’s warnings of blackmail, violence, torture; she had seen all three tonight. She also had an idea what had taken place in the  _ Sarlaac Pit _ that first night so long ago. The pained screams ringing through her consciousness. But then the memories of the beings Calia had come to know drifted through her memory as well, Mel, Tuk, Ms. Chanta, even the Gutterrunners, they all seemed to trust Master Arten, despite any reservations surrounding his methods. There was real warmth in their hearts. 

Bicham.

The name reemerged from her subconsciousness. Was it worth it? What would Bicham think? What about Kaida? It seemed easy to think of the needs of the many until your staring into the terrified eyes of the few. 

Calia was tired, she just wanted to go home, back to the Temple.


	17. Shatterpoint

Arten pulled the cloak off his shoulders, carefully laying it over the prostrate body, the being’s final whispers in the Force going quiet forever, leaving just an empty shell. He had been staking out a popular street corner in the entertainment district, hoping to follow a buyer to a weapons deal when he felt the disturbance in the Force. He had brought the girl along; a stakeout would be easy enough for her. Arten was tempted to leave her to watch the corner while he dealt with whatever was causing the disturbance, but he wasn’t willing to trust her alone. 

Arten felt her over his shoulder in the Force, she was just standing there her head bowed. It had been easy enough to incapacitate the hostile being, a deathstick addicted gran, Arten didn’t even need to ignite his lightsaber; just pulled the blaster pistol from his hands with the Force followed by a sharp jab with his fist to the Gran’s elongated snout, he had felt cartilage and teeth snap and break, followed a strong kick to his knee which shattered as it bent backwards. The screams were still ringing in his ears. While the gran quickly lost consciousness from the pain and trauma, it didn’t matter though. The damage was done. He had already gunned down the elderly human woman in a vain attempt at stealing her already meager belongings, a smoking hole in her chest from another Republic DC-17 blaster pistol. 

It was only a few days before the flow of military weapons had resumed. Arten was almost impressed. Whoever was at the source of the of broken link in the Republic’s supply lines knew their logistics. It would not have been easy to find a new smuggler, establish a new method of transporting the goods, and reconnect with Darkstar’s network of local dealers. It must have been someone who kept close tabs on the beings who worked for them, such a fast turnaround would have only been possible by reorienting Darkstar’s existing contacts. They were _very_ good. 

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was stopping them. And after weeks of chasing leads, he had nothing, absolutely nothing. 

Arten tried putting aside his emotions, but he couldn’t. Anger welled inside him, smoldering deep in his core as he stood up. He knew that night that breaking Darkstar was their only chance of learning where the weapons were coming from. He knew that the increased supply of blasters would bring the violence in the underlevels to unheard of levels. He knew that beings would die. Tonight’s was the fifth death in the last two weeks. 

He sighed, trying to take a deep breath and calm himself. Regardless of how upset he was with her, he never intended his padawan see a being’s death so soon. Death was terrifying enough for most beings, but for a jedi, watching the very lifeforce almost literally bleed away was an entirely different magnitude of terrifying. The gran had panicked as soon as he saw the two jedi, reflexively pulling the trigger. 

‘Master–’ 

‘Just stop,’ Arten snapped. ‘I just can’t,’ he whispered in a tired voice 

He gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration. Thinking back to that night, maybe he did go too far, but he only did because he knew what was on the line. His thoughts returned to the present problem. He would have to call the Underworld Police for the gran, but he couldn’t trust them with the body, they’d just throw it over a skylane. The clinic had a morgue, but no incinerator, would just be knocking the mynock off the power converter. Needed to think long-term, especially consider there would be more and more bodies before long, the morgue was probably already full.

‘Master, please–’ 

‘What!’ he barked at her, losing his composure, ‘what is it!?’ 

The girl shirked back from his outburst, her expression recoiling. ‘I– I just,’ she stammered, ‘I am sorry Master.’ 

‘Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. Not really.’ 

‘You mean that Master,’ a tinge of hope quivering in her voice. 

‘Sure,’ he answered letting the venom drip from his voice, ‘you're a jedi, like all the others. I can’t expect you to look beyond your ideals.’ 

‘Master–’ 

‘Sure, I mean hurting one being to save countless lives is obviously unacceptable, right? Wait though, isn’t that what the Order always does? Isn’t that why the Order is off fighting the Republic’s battles? No, you’re right,’ he never gave her a chance to respond, ‘the Order has to put its ideals of peace, freedom, and the _will of Force_ ahead of petty concerns like food, shelter, and medicine for the trillions of beings living below their feet. I’m sure all the beings suffering down here will really appreciate how they’re free to slowly die and waste away under the Republic’s boot instead of the Confederacy’s.’ 

Arten paused, trying to vent some of the vitriol from his voice, ‘The beings down here, they don’t care about anything beyond just scratching out another day. The Republic or the Confederacy, the Jedi or the Sith, none of it matters to them. They’ll support whoever keeps them alive longer, and I don’t blame them. Imagine what an army of jedi, healing the sick and injured, distributing food, scouring criminals from the underlevels could do. That’s impossible though, we’re too busy off in space fighting over trade routes, taxes, and sovereignty. That’s not it either though, is it? Even before the war the jedi mostly just stayed up in their ivory tower, a shining beacon of light to the Galaxy. What would the beings of the Galaxy think if they really knew the jedi? Asking children to go off and fight and die in their battles, taking them from their families –sometimes by force!– before they’re old enough to decide for themselves, or asking a girl to sacrifice her future and betray her own beliefs to babysit one of their own when he defies them.’ He didn’t know, not for sure, but had suspected all along. 

He finally turned to face her, ‘the thing is Calia, when you shine that bright you only make more shadows.’ 

Arten didn’t mean to vent his resentment and frustration towards his Padawan, but here she was, the perfect representation of the Order’s beliefs, the product of its philosophy; a being who thinks they’ve seen everything just by looking down on everyone else. 

He turned away from, he couldn’t stand to face her right now. Arten was ready to march off again before Calia’s spirit in the Force finally rose to meet his. ‘What makes you any different!?’ she cried. 

_What_? 

‘This is just your own personal crusade; you don’t really care about any of the beings down here either! You only care about stopping the crime, and you don’t care who gets hurt along the way. If you really cared about the beings of the underlevels you’d find a way to stop the criminals without putting the innocent beings at risk. What about Mel and his bar? It gets trashed whenever you visit, and how long before he takes a stray shot? What about Tuk? What if someone does remember the “drunk Sullustan in the corner,” and realizes he talked? What about Ms. Chanta, or– or Bicham!?’ 

_Bicham_ _? She knows!?_

‘What about the Gutterunners? Huh!? How long before you’re cutting them down for stealing credits. When do you stop being a duct rat and start being a criminal? Well Master!?’ 

_S’kar_ _._

Tears of fury and frustration in her eyes, she continued, ‘Maybe you make things incidentally better, Master _._ But how many broken lives have you left behind in the process? Where do their lives factor into _your_ ideals? How much is one _criminal_ life worth? The criminals you bring in, how are they any different from the _good_ beings? They’re both poor, desperate, and trying to scratch out one more day. What– what makes me special. If it made Darkstar talk, would you slowly cut my arm off? Would you maim me to save lives!? The only difference between me and Kaida is that I was born sensitive to the Force! You say the jedi just create more shadows, but trying to fight back the shadows with the dark side is no better. You don’t care about anyone beside yourself! You are no better than the Order. You are no better than the criminals you pursue. You are– You really are no different from Darkstar!’ 

Silence. Stunned silence consumed the alleyway, consumed the two jedi. 

Calia walked off on her own, leaving Arten alone, dumbstruck. Was he any better? He always believed what he was doing made the underlevels a better place. But, was he really? Was he still just that boy exploring the underlevels out of curiosity, for his own satisfaction, but now he was the one leaving beings scarred and crippled... 

Calia sat at her personal terminal. She had written out her report to the Council. She had said how Master Arten had gone too far, how he was willing to do anything in his pursuit of criminals, disregarding the Jedi Code. She had seen it with her own eyes. Why then, could she not send it? She would be reassigned to a new master, a proper master. Hopefully she would be able to pursue the plans she had made for herself. The plans she had intended to follow. This slight detour would be over; she would be back on her own path. Her way out was right there in front of her, all she had to do was hit the button. Somehow, she just could not take that final step. 

She thought back to her confrontation with Arten, with her master. It had been more than two days, and he still had not returned to the safehouse. Calia knew she had lost herself to her emotions, that was not the jedi way, but– but she knew, felt, she had meant every word. She knew she was supposed to trust in her master, and to trust in the Council, but what does the Code say about when the Council distrusts your master? 

Still, she knew Arten was right too. Calia had seen how so many beings struggled, fought, just to live. While the jedi had the luxury to pursue their lofty ideals. How many underlevels lives could one jedi save if they only chose to? Not to mention the literal luxury they lived in, how many credits did the Republic invest into the Jedi Temple? And for what?

_Master_ _Arten_ _is right, but so is the Council. Light and Dark, right and wrong, life and death. There were no simple answers, no clear path._

Calia did not know where to turn. She felt lost in a fog, one even the Force could not penetrate. Everything she had once taken for granted was in flux, the very foundations of who she was and what she believed in had been rocked to their core. She once believed she knew how the Galaxy worked, that the Force gave her insight most beings could never comprehend, but all she knew know was just how little she really knew. 

A thought, inspiration, surged through her. Maybe there was someone who did have the answers. She minimized the message, but made sure she saved it, and looked through the local directory. She found her name, and pressed to comms button. After a few tense moments Calia heard a familiar voice answer, there must have been no school today. 

‘Yes? This is Level 1442, district NE566543 Children’s Educational Center. How may I help you?’ 

‘Hello Ms. Chanta, this is Calia.’ Calia could feel her heart nearly wrench apart from her desire to share her overwhelming emotions with the kind being, but she knew she needed the perspective of another Jedi, one who has experienced the underlevels. ‘Could you please put me in contact with Mr. Medicum? Mr. Entum Medicum, you mentioned you knew him, if it would not be too much trouble. I would like to discuss a few things with him.’


	18. An Evening with Grand-Master: Part 1

Calia walked alone through the warehouse. It was staggeringly huge, easily the largest single room she had ever been in. While the building itself was dwarfed by the Jedi Temple, the aid center’s warehouse seemed to stretch out almost as far as the eye could see in every direction, it was larger than even the temple’s starship hangar, and was seeminly filled with crates, boxes, and pallets of every size and shape, stacked high but clearly carefully arranged and ordered. It had to be, or the dozens, if not hundreds, of workers buzzing around her, some on foot, others on small one-being speeders with cargo hooks, and others even using hoverboots not unlike the kind used for grav-ball, would be in a constant state of chaos instead of the seemingly synchronized and fluid dance of productivity they were each a part of. While she did see the occasional droid, she was surprised that the vast majority of the staff where sentient beings; it seemed the kind of work more suited to droids. 

The young woman wearing jedi robes walking unaccompanied through the warehouse did elicit the occasional sidelong glance, but most where too focused on their work to pay much attention to her. Calia had tried contacting Master Medicum via the comms terminal, however she could only reach the aid center’s reception desk. While somewhat perplexed, the woman on the other end of the line was more than accommodating of the padawan’s strange request. She informed Calia that trying to speak with Mr. Medicam over a comm would be a waste of time, he was far too hard of hearing, but Calia would be more than welcome to come in person, any hour, anytime, as Mr. Medicam’s species requires very little sleep and he can usually be found in either his office or the warehouse. 

With only a moment’s hesitation, Calia took her cloak and stepped outside, and through the early evening haze walked towards the nearest skylane and hailed a skycab. Master Medicam’s aid center was not on the 1442, and it would be quite the trip. It gave her plenty of time to think. She had tried to consider what she would ask the jedi master, advice on what she should do, questions about her own Master, wisdom on the now murky distinction between the light and dark sides of the Force, but she was unable to articulate her thoughts in and cognizant way. They remained and elusive tangled bundle of contradictory and confused ideas and feelings in her consciousness. Her attempts to organize her thoughts only resulted in exacerbating her anxiety and confusion, the more she tried to untangle that mass alone the more tangled it became. 

Eventually she gave up, hoping the words would come naturally once she was in the senior jedi’s presence, content to just lazily watch the underlevels zoom by through the cab’s window, scattered lights and decrepit buildings passing over her. Once Calia finally reached the aid-center she built up her courage and stepped through the main entrance, and at the reception desk was a middle-aged human woman Calia recognized as the same she had spoken to earlier. Calia could feel through the Force a distinct love and respect for Master Medicum as she informed her that he was currently in the warehouse and offered to escort Calia to him. She politely refused the offer, as the jedi’s mere presence sent powerful reverberations through the Force that she could feel before she had even stepped inside. Calia felt surprised she had not learned of Master Entum Medicum earlier, his power must have rivaled that of any master sitting on the Jedi Council. 

So, she followed his image in the Force through the warehouse, pulsating energy like a heartbeat, instinctively moving through the stacks of dry goods, medicine, and other necessities, as well as the occasional luxury like toca nuts, fresh melurun fruit, or even Garbakian stone candies until she saw a tall thin figure seated in a repulsorlift chair. As a Muun, Master Medicum probably encountered some prejudice from the beings of the Republic, not unlike Neimoidians, as they represented the Banking Clan, another of the primary corporate powers behind the Confederacy; though as a jedi master she doubted that prejudice was rarely, if ever, voiced in his presence. While all Muuns had long elongated skulls, long hooked noses, lacked lips, and where exceeding tall and gaunt, Master Medicum thinness was even more protracted, with his heavily wrinkled skin, so pale it appeared nearly translucent, hanging loose over his skeleton, giving the appearance his bones would tear through the paper-thin flesh at any time. He wore very traditional jedi robes of a khaki tunic and deep brown cloak, but which seemed almost comically oversized on the aged jedi, making it appear he was swaddled in thick blankets. Calia had never seen a jedi so old who had not retired to a quiet life in the Temple in meditation or training younglings, with the exception of Master Yoda of course. Despite his age though, he still veritably sung through the Force. While she had felt his whispers since she first arrived, now in his presence, he felt as a shining, shimmering, beacon of pure light. Master Medicum’s aura was not unlike Master Arten’s, but it was softer, more comforting, without the sheer intensity yet shinning even brighter. Already she felt her nerves being put to ease somewhat by his mere presence. 

Before Calia could say anything, he spoke, in a voice grumbled with age but still featured a slight nasally pitch, ‘Hello Padawan Rayyah,’ as his hover chair turned to face her. Looking in the dispraportionally small eyes of his species, Calia could see a paternal warmth, she smiled recalling Master Arten’s terrible “Grand-Master” joke, the metaphor felt quite astute now seeing him for herself. 

‘Hello Master Medicum,’ she answered formally, bowing slightly as she was taught to when addressing a Jedi Master. 

‘Come closer, so I can see you, my vision is beginning to fail me, and my hearing is not so good these days– in fact,’ he began before holding his hand out, and a large crate seemed to effortlessly float up from one of the nearby stacks, coming to rest next to him. ‘Come sit, there’s no reason to be uncomfortable child.’ 

Calia bowed again as she stepped closer and sat down on the crate, putting her nearly at eye-level with Master Medicum despite how much taller he was, even while seated. 

‘So,’ he began, ‘Sherry informed me you are a padawan and you wished to speak with me, correct? I cannot imagine why a Padawan would have any interest in an old Muun such as myself. I thought most of the young jedi were more concerned with going off to fight in the war. Perhaps you are here for a logistics lesson? A more subtle method of supporting the war effort? I am something of an expert, though my knowledge of interstellar planning is somewhat limited, my efforts have been primarily focused on distributions of aid once it has already arrived on Coruscant.’ 

Calia listened, wishing she had explained the situation in more detail to the receptionist, Sherry. It would have been much easier to express her convoluted emotions impersonally over a comms call to a non-Jedi. Gathering her courage, she began ‘Master Medicum, I am Master Arten’s Padawan, and I...' 

_Should I tell him about the Council’s request?_

‘Ah, I see,’ Master Medicum responded. ‘I suppose he did not choose to take you on as a padawan, but you were assigned to him? I doubt he would have ever sought a padawan on his own, despite how much he has to teach. And I can guess the Council believes he is going too far in his pursuit of crime in the underlevels, and you are meant to keep an eye on him for them?’ 

Calia was completely taken aback, bewildered. ‘Master, how could you–‘ 

‘It is only their natural reaction. While I do not fault their beliefs, the high standard they hold all of us jedi to, they could use with a smidge of perspective,’ gesturing as if he was pinching the "smidge" between two elongated fingers, as he turned and offered a warm smile to Calia. She smiled back, he was right if the Council was anything like she was initially, they really did have little idea what the underlevels were like. ‘Enough of that though, what brings you here?’ he asked. 

‘Master, I–’ she tried to answer him, but found the words caught in her throat, scratching and clawing to escape, but held back by her fears. She sat struggling to articulate herself, but despite how long it was taking her Master Medicum showed no signs of impatience. He had only closed his eyes and was breathing softly. 

She smiled, was he napping? 

‘Master?’ she called out softly, gently nudging his shoulder. 

‘Hmmph?’ he abruptly grunted, ‘I was awake, just mediating on the Force,’ he retorted in a defensive tone. Calia had to stifle a giggle, she imagined to most of the beings who continued milling about the two Jedi as they spoke, this answer would have been more than satisfying to them since the Force was such a mystery, but to her, another Jedi, she could tell he had really just nodded off. Or had he? Calia realized now how much more at ease she felt, her mind and thoughts soothed by the brief moment of brevity. Maybe Master Medicum was _even_ wiser than he seemed. 

Finally building her courage, Calia began confessing her thoughts to the aged jedi, ‘Master, I am finding myself confused, torn. It seems everything I have been taught is so much more complicated than I ever believed. In the Temple everything is black and white, the Force has a dark and a light side, the Republic and the Order represent the Galaxy’s core ideals, while the Confederacy is misguided at best or evil at worst, beings are either good and law-abiding or malicious criminals. Since beginning my apprenticeship with Master Arten, it feels as if everything has become clouded and gray. What am I supposed to do when I see injustice that is lawful? How am I meant to help beings in need when there are so many in need and I have so little to give? What am I to do when– when a being does something terrible, but for the greater good...'

 _Was I referring to Master_ _Arten_ _or myself?_

Calia could feel her throat beginning to clench and constrict once again, but she was determined not to cry, determined not give in to her emotions. She had broken down so many times since she had left the Temple that morning so long ago. It was not the jedi way; a jedi is meant to be in control of their feelings at all times. 

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

Calia felt- she felt nothing. Before, when life felt so much simpler, reciting the Jedi Code, the mantra on which a Jedi lived their life from which their very being was based, used to comfort her, calm her. Now though, she just felt empty. Had she changed so much that the words rang hollow? Or was it that they had been hollow all along? Vacant platitudes to strip away emotions instead of soothing them. She was not sure which disturbed her more. 

‘I can feel the maelstrom which has enveloped you, my dear,’ spoke a gentle voice suddenly breaking her from her stupor. ‘I am afraid, that even in my years walking this galaxy, living and breathing life and the Force, I have yet to find the answers to those questions. If you figure them out, be sure to tell me, would you?’ 

Calia smiled, thankful knowing she was at least not so alone as she felt. 

Master Medicum said to her, lamented even, ‘Though I sense theoretical philosophy is not what had brought you here today, however. I feel that something has happened, something Richar did or showed you that has shaken your faith so?’ 

She nodded and said, ‘Yes, but also no. He did do something–’ she could not find the words, ‘but he has shown me so beauty too! I just, I just do not…’ Calia trailed off.


	19. An Evening with Grand-Master: Part 2

Master Medicum sighed, his slight frame shuddering as if a gust of wind had blown through the center, ‘Let me tell you a story.’ A part of Calia groaned internally, she remembered so many occasions in the temple when a seemingly simple query resulted in a rambling tale that left more question than answers. Though, looking over at the Jedi Master now, she felt this story would be different. The pained, haunted look in his eyes spoke to that. 

‘Some years ago,’ he began, ‘an apprentice, so full of love and curiosity, decided to explore the underlevels on his own. The apprentice was not disappointed, at first, he found so much life to love,’ Master Medicum announced chuckling. ‘However,’ he continued, his manner growing sour, ‘the apprenictice soon discovered the decay and entropy that accompanies all life. Two beings, death stick addicts trying to steal his meagre belongings, they blinded him with a black-market ocular stunner. It is a riot control device, meant to overload a being’s vision temporarily. Thankfully, they have been illegal for some time, as it only takes a few simple modifications to bring the level of lumens to dangerous, potentially even lethal levels, like the stunner the two beings used that night. 

The apprentice was left completely blind, alone and terrified, stumbling through the levels aimlessly for days, desperately trying to find his way home. Of course, once the Jedi Order realized he was missing they mounted a monumental search effort, but I knew it would be in vain; the underlevels are just too massive. I knew that every single Jedi, and every single police officer and police droid on the planet could spend years scouring the levels, and even then, the odds of finding the apprentice would be painfully small. I even mobilized my own workforce here,’ Master Medicum said gesturing to the warehouse of beings hard at work, ‘but none of it was enough. The Jedi were ready to give up– I was ready to give up, when the most unexpected thing happened. The boy suddenly appeared in a turbolift going up to the Temple, fed, clothed, and his wounds treated. One of the Temple’s support staff was escorting him, the temple hairdresser, Krryxz’i.’ Calia remembered the insectoid hairdresser who had taught her to tie her Padawan’s braid, as she reached for the lock of hair instinctively. Could she have been the same one? She never considered asking her for her name. 

Master Medicum paused briefly, a gentle sigh pouring out between his lips before going on, ‘At first the apprentice refused to speak, so the council had the stylist interrogated, naturally. They suspected a planned kidnapping or ransom. Obviously, this was not the case. Krryxz’i informed them that the most unlikely of beings had stumbled across the apprentice, a very old, and very, very drunk Sullustan.’ _Tuk!_ ‘Who despite his own worries, needs, and hardships, brought the boy to one of the local establishments, there was no clinic or aid in that area at the time, and they cared for him. Eventually they were able to gently coax from the apprentice where he was from, his robes were stolen you see, and they found a nearby being who worked in the Temple to bring him home. The Council after verifying every detail thanked the hairdresser for her aid, before sending her back to work; her efforts, and the efforts of the other beings remained _unseen_ ,’ Master Medicum spoke to her looking for the spark of recognition in her eyes, and she did understand. 

Calia could feel her heart ache. 

‘For a time, the apprentice was told to go back to his training as if nothing had happened. While he did begin speaking again, eventually, he was often angry, lashing out at his teachers and other apprentices. He was often frustrated by his blindness, but was offered no consolation, only expectations that he should adjust, that it was the Force’s will. It was not long before he began to fall behind. Between his emotional outbursts and failures to adapt to his training, the Council soon decided he would be not be allowed to progress, would not be allowed to become a Jedi.’ 

Calia shuddered, she knew some apprentices did fail their training; they were all taught that a life in the Jedi Service Corps was still a noble and honorable pursuit, working to offer technical or logistic support for the Jedi Order, but she also knew to every apprentice it was the greatest shame and fear any of them could imagine. To fail at the one thing that had worked towards almost since their birth. Many felt death would be preferable. 

‘Thankfully, the boy was rescued from that fate, by a foolish, doddering, old Muun,’ gushed Master Medicam with an expression of pride, and maybe even fatherly affection. ‘That arrogant Jedi Master argued that due to the special circumstance around the apprentice, he would need special training. That the apprentice needed to confront his trauma, if he hoped to overcome it and find peace, and after much arguing and convincing was allowed to take the apprentice on as his padawan, significantly earlier than was typical.’ 

Now, love unabashedly flowing into his every word, Master Medicum beamed, ‘It did not take long for the master to discover the apprentice’s love for life was still smoldering deep in his heart, and only needed to be rekindled. His master showed him how the beings of the underlevels are good, and that their lives matter, that even the bad ones are only that way because of circumstances outside their control. Now a padawan, he took to aiding and assisting his master’s efforts to improve the lives of those on the underlevels as a glorphin takes to helium waves. And, for a time, both were at peace; content. 

Calia could feel it, sadness, slowing stalking its way back from the depths of the Master Medicum’s heart (or hearts as it was for his species) as she listened, enraptured. ‘As the apprentice grew older though his mood once again began to sour. His love of life and the Force darkened by those who preyed on the lives of others. He was discontented, always wanting to take a more active role in making the underlevels a better place. The master tried to show him that if beings were provided for they would not turn to crime, but even the master had to admit there was never enough aid, that beings would always grow desperate. Then there were the criminals from outside the underlevels who come to rip and tear at the already struggling beings like scavengers. The master had no answer for him. Realizing that he could not dissuade his padawan from his path, he at least sought to equip his padawan for it as best he could: teach him how to survive the underlevels, where and how to find tools he needed for himself, and introduce him to beings who could help and teach him even more. And while it was not the path the master would have chosen for him, he was still proud. He could see that his former padawan’s work directly battling the crime and decay did make many lives better, like a wildfire clearing the weeds for life to grow. 

Despite this, he saw in the now jedi knight how the more he was surrounded by beings of the darkness, even in his attempts to combat them, he was being further darkened by them. His own light dimming as he shared it,’ another long tired sighed escaped from the old being’s thin mouth, nearly roaring through him, ‘and perhaps that would not be such a terrible thing, so long as he does not go too far. So long as there is still light to balance the darkness. Life, the Force, it needs balance. Once I too believed that all the answers lay within the light, that it alone could burn away all the ills that beset the Galaxy, but too much light only creates more shadows. But at the same time even the tiniest flicker of light can shine out through even an overwhelming darkness,’ he spoke turning towards Calia once again. 

She felt, adrift, unsure of where her place would be in this unfolding story. Where did all this fall into her story? Did her story matter? 

As if he could read her mind, maybe he could, Master Medicum dropping the pretext asked her, ‘I do not know what you should do. It is for me impossible to know, only you can learn that for yourself.’ Staring ahead, as if into a great empty expanse, he somberly whispered, ‘I fear for him every day, I know he is slowly going to a place he will not return from, but I have done all I can for him. He will not listen to me, not anymore.’ 

A tense silence passed between the two Jedi; the two beings so different but both feeling lost. Without words, the two reached out to one another, hands clasped in shared fear and uncertainty. His fingers were thin and bony, but warm. 

Eventually, Master Medicum spoke to her, ‘Calia, I may not know what to tell you regarding Richar, but I can offer you some advice on finding your own place here in the underlevels, though I suspect you may already have heard whisperings of what I will say.’ Turning to him again, hope in her heart she listened, ‘My talents and experience bring something to the underlevels, something unique to me, and Richar brings something unique as well. Despite what the Order has led you to believe, you are not only a vessel for the Force’s will. Who you are, and especially what you _feel_ has the potential to change the Galaxy in a way no other being could. You need to learn to listen to your feelings, they make you who you are. Look inside yourself, and discover what only you can do for others. I suspect that if you discover that, and of course hone and develop that something– no easy answers here young one,’ he announced with a harumph, ‘I believe you will find that answer you are seeking within yourself.’ 

Calia sat with the old jedi master for a time, thanked him for his kind words and advice, and left the center. She returned home, took a shower, and collapsed into her bed. She woke up hours later, the underlevel lighting streaming into her room through the window, particles gently glowing as they floated in and out of the light. Calia felt, she was not sure how she felt as she rubbed the sleep away from her eyes. She was calm, and she realized that the fears and anxiety that had been haunting her since she left the Temple were, at least, quieted. While she may not know where her future lay, or what she would do (she would work that out later), she was, for the first time, confident she could find the answers herself. 


	20. Wait Outside!?: Part 1

It wasn’t normal to get a call from Mel in the middle of the morning. Sometimes things would get rowdy at the _Sarlaac_ _Pit_ in the middle of a busy night, but even then, normally Mel could handle most problems himself. Arten only ever felt the need to help out when he happened to be in the neighborhood, or more likely, when he was the cause of the trouble. So getting a call for help from the old Merguntan, especially one in the relatively early morning hours when the bars would be deserted, had the jedi knight rattled as he rushed through the narrow winding streets on foot, trying to get to the bar as fast as possible. What could it possibly be? 

Arten had already been out, trying to track down any new leads on whoever the new distributor was, but so far he had nothing. It was exactly as he had feared, when word got out that it was the jedi sentinel who had brought Darkstar in, any and everyone who had even the slightest association with the jedi was kept out of the deals. It had already been almost a week since he had fought with…well, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was protecting the 1442. He just hoped that whatever was going on with Mel wasn’t related. 

Arten turned one final corner into the short narrow alleyway leading towards the _Saarlac_ _Pit’s_ entrance. He could fell the sinking feeling deep in his gut abate when he saw the hulking Merguntan standing outside the door like he did nearly every day, his frame glowing in the blues and purples of the flickering holo-sign; the old being was at least not in immediate danger, Arten thought in relief as he slowed his urgent pace as he approached the bouncer. 

As he neared him, Arten could feel in Mel a sort of– well, an unease, but his nerves were directed towards Arten himself. _Why would Mel be nervous about me when he was the one who had called?_

‘Well?’ Arten asked, crossing his arms impatiently, ‘What do you need?’ He felt his patience fraying as his urgent fears for Mel’s safety were being once again replaced by thoughts of leads to follow and angles to be pursued, as well as anxiety at losing valuable time. 

‘Yes, ugh, Master Jedi must first promise to not be cross with me,’ Mel stammered. ‘None of this was my own idea, I only agree to help as a favor.’ 

A raised eyebrow revealed the jedi knight’s confusion as his mind tried to work through what was going on. _Favor to who? Who would want to take me by surprise? Had Mel betrayed me? No, never._ _So_ _who would Mel do a favor for that would involve calling me here, and in secret? Who would–_

In the instant it required for these thoughts to tumble through Arten’s consciousness, Mel asked him once again, ‘Master Arten must promise not be angry.’ 

Snapping back to the present, more than a bit frustrated by this point, Arten flatly agreed saying, ‘Fine, I won’t take it out on you.’ He was well aware that what his choice of words said nothing about not getting angry. 

Somewhat sheepishly, as if he was ashamed to have conspired against his friend Mel explained, ‘Your– ugh what is her title? Calia, she called me on holo-com earlier.’ 

_Why in the Force’s name would she_ – 

‘She asks me to do two things, keep the bar empty and invite Skeever with promises of free hooch, and after she has had time to speak to him, alone, to call Master Arten as well; keeping all this a secret from him.’ 

‘Mel,’ Arten began, confusion and exasperation competing to exhaust his faculties, ‘why, why would you– whatever just let me deal with her.’ 

Despite his command, the large being didn’t move, merely holding up a thick meaty hand 

‘She explicitly did tell me not to let you in until she called,’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You arrived, early Master Jedi, I was not expecting you to be here so soon.’ The large being rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable giving commands to the usually authoritative jedi. ‘You will have to wait outside.’ 

‘Wait outside!? You call me. Tell me my Padawan is alone in there with a dangerous– well a criminal, and then tell me _I_ have to wait outside!? And since when are you and her so chummy? Huh?’ Arten demanded, the irritation flaring in his voice as he pushed his perception through the Force, feeling Calia and Skeever seated at the same table where he had “spoken” with Skeever before. They were just chatting, both even seemed…relaxed. 

‘She was very persuasive.’ Mel responded with shrugged shoulders. 

Arten scoffed, and tried to shove his way past the old bouncer, but he simply placed a commanding hand on the Jedi’s shoulder, staring into his eyes. This was one being who knew him well enough to not be intimidated, so with a huff Arten backed down and collapsed onto a discarded pallet off to one side to wait. His mounting frustration only continued to stew as he pouted. 

‘Did I ever tell you where the _Pit_ gets its name?’ Mel asked cautiously. 

Earlier that morning, sitting alone in the otherwise empty bar, Calia nervously thumbed with the sleeve of her robes. The room felt eerily empty, while this was only her second time inside the establishment, without Mel, or Tuk, or Master Arten, everything felt too quiet. She noticed for the first time the ferrocrete walls adorned with posters and signs she did not recognize, or the female presenting server droid sitting lifeless in its charging cradle in the corner. It is funny how much more you percieve when one allows themself a moment of peace. Everything, both the beings and the objects and furnishings brought a considerable, unique, energy to the place, one whose echo still rang out in the Force. 

This was it; it may be her one chance to prove to Master Arten there is another way, another way to deal with crime and treat the criminals as just further victims of the underlevel’s brutality. If this plan backfired, he’d never give her another chance, well maybe, but she had no idea how long that would be. No, it would be great, everything would be great. A young padawan, alone with a seasoned criminal, and her only plan was to talk him down, somehow. What could go wrong? 

Stop it, you know better. You planned out the deal, put all your negotiating “know-how” into it, Calia reassured herself. He would have to be an idiot not to take it. _What if he was an idiot?_ No! It did not matter, everything was already in place. She had called Mel asking him about the being her master had interrogated their first night, and convinced him to set up a meeting with, Skeever was his name, without letting him or her Master know about it. She had considered offering her deal to some of Darkstar’s crew, and maybe she would still, but she doubted they would still have any viable connections. As far as she knew, the news that Skeever had been the earlier leak was relatively unknown since Master Arten never formally arrested him. All that was left was to wait for Skeever to show up, and if everything went well, Mel would give Master Arten the signal a short time after Skeever arrived. She just hoped the timing would work out, everything relied on things falling in place. 

Calia realized she had been tapping her foot, and breathed deeply trying to calm her emotions. She remembered her meditations on the Force, letting it flow in and around her. She allowed it to fill her with energy, instead of repressing how she felt, she let her hope, passion, and even a touch of love fill herself with drive and determination. What she was doing was right, it was good, it would make things better for herself, for Master Arten, for the beings of the 1442, and even for Skeever too. She opened her eyes just as the _Sarlaacs_ _Pit’s_ door opened with a grating whir. Stepping through was a tall, but exceedingly thin Devaronian, the two horns extending off the top of his head nearly scraping the ceiling. The being looked down at her from her seat, brow askew, glancing to each side seemingly expecting an ambush. 

Calia subconsciously probed his thoughts through the Force, and felt feelings of pain, anger, and helplessness associated with her and exactly where she was seated; he rubbed the back of one of his hands with the other instinctively, Calia felt tenderness radiating off an old wound. 

_Great, off to a great start_. 

She must have been sitting exactly where her Master had _spoken_ with the being previously. Trying to distance Skeever’s memories of his last encounter with a Jedi, she stood and offered her hand in greeting saying, ‘Hello, my name is Calia Rayyah.’ Skeever just looked at her, one foot moving backwards, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice through the still open door. ‘Yes, I know this must be confusing, and you have no reason to trust me, a jedi tricking you into a meeting, but I just want to talk. You can leave at any time.’ 

Skeever just stared at her outstretched hand, before dismissively declaring, ‘Say what ya wanna say, and I’m gone, _Jedi_.’ 


	21. Wait Outside!?: Part 2

Calia did not need the Force to feel the revulsion dripping of his words. _Well, that is what we are here to work on_. In her most amiable voice she asked him, ‘Would you like to take a seat?’ gesturing towards the chair opposite her own. The one advantage of accidentally sitting where he was before was that now he could use Master Arten’s seat. Hopefully, it would help inverse the power dynamic in his mind. She wanted him thinking he was the one in control. 

Still somewhat skeptical, but also intrigued, Skeever sat down where she had directed. Calia supposed he had never had a cordial interaction with a jedi before. Though she also observed he had both feet firmly planted on the floor with the chair angled towards the door, ready to run. 

_Progress at least._

Calia was tempted to offer him something, water or maybe a caf, but advised herself against it for the time at least. She had seen Master Arten make the same proposition initially enough times to know Skeever would be wary of it. So she simply began, ‘Skeever, I am here to extend a deal, and arrangement actually. There is no pressure to accept, and you are free to walk away at any time, no questions asked and no later reprisal. You have my word as a jedi.’ 

Skeever shifted in the rusting seat, she could tell he was interested, or at least curious. Calia was sure to make it clear he had nothing to lose by just hearing her out. She could see on his brow the quick cost benefit analysis going through his mind. After a few moments he finally spoke abruptly, ‘Fine.’ 

Every time she managed to convince him to follow her suggestions, no matter how small: coming to the meeting, sitting down, hearing her offer, the more likely he was to accept the actual agreement. Just need to keep him saying yes. 

With this in mind she went on, ‘I understand you’re something of a businessman, is that right?’ making sure that no trace of sarcasm or irony was in her voice. He only nodded slightly, but she could see his expression begin to soften. Continuing she said, ‘I am also aware that Master Arten, the other jedi, has on numerous occasions disrupted your business and hurt your reputation by hounding you for information, correct?’ The devaronian nodded again. _Keep him agreeing._ ‘What if I could arrange a mutually beneficial agreement? We all get what we want. I would actually say you get much more out of it than we would, but everyone would be content.’ 

Skeever scoffed, the yellowing decaying lights shining down on him as he remarked, ‘Yeah right, I know you jedi. All you care about is bringing _criminals_ to justice. Just a matter of time before you turn me in no matter what I do.’ 

The first wave of resistance, but nothing she was not prepared for, and it showed she had him throughly engaged. ‘Mr. Skeever, if that’s what you prefer I call you, I am not asking you to take my word. Let me just lay out the arrangement, and I am sure you will see how it is in my master's and my own best interest that you not only remain free, but prosper like never before,’ she said, subconciously tugging nervously at her Padawan braid. 

The other being leaned forward resting his arms on the table with a slightly upturned eyebrow. Calia could feel his doubts and reservations, but she knew she would at least hear her out after promising him so much; perfect. ‘Well,’ he barked, ‘let’s hear it then jedi.’ 

‘Good, and thank you for your patience,’ Calia reassured him flattening her robes on her lap, ‘simply put, we will turn a blind eye to all your– um, business dealings, and all we ask if for the occasion bit of information, discreetly communicated of course. Not only that but we will actually assist you as well. You will no longer fear jedi pursuit, freeing you to conduct business with less precautions. We will protect your reputation by publicly “pursuing” you, but you will always mange to “escape.” The two of us will even spread rumors and stories of how you are always just one step ahead of us; I am sure before long you will be the talk of the underlevels. Imagine what it will do for your reputation. All we ask for in exchange is to give us any pertinent information regarding other criminal elements in the 1442. Just think, the information we get from you will also bring down your competitors, you could have a monopoly on illicit dealings before long. And finally, on top of all that we will even offer you fair pay for your trouble.’ Calia could feel the smug smile on her face; she knew it might damage her image of sincerity, but was unable prevent the perfection of the arrangement inflate her pride. 

Calia could veritably read the excitement on Skeever’s face as well, despite his best efforts to hide it behind and impassive facade, but she knew she did not quite have him hooked just yet as he asked skeptically, ‘Yeah right, what’s the catch?’ 

_Always offer less than you’re willing to give._

‘Ah of course,’ she conceded (but not really), ‘We would ask that you limit the scope of your dealings slightly. No weapons, no drugs, and no exorting credits from the local population. That is all however, maybe you make slightly less credits, but it would surely be considerably more than you make now begging others for work, and you would likely save credits and effort by investing in avoiding jedi involvement,’ she offered with her most sincere smile. 

Calia could feel how close she was, as she leaned back in her chair observing the lazily spinning fan on the ceiling. She knew his final defenses were ready to come crashing down, this was the moment she was always most excited for. Seeing the opposition’s resolve wavering, but Skeever mustered one final token point of opposition, ‘I don’t know, seems to me like it’s a matter of time before it all comes crashing down. Then I’m left a corpse tossed into a skylane or incinerator.’ 

_She had him._

Calia feigned disappointment, ‘Fine, maybe you’re right,’ she forlornly announced, before acting as if she was struck by sudden inspiration, ‘How about this? Not only will we stay off your back, but we make a deal, right now, that if anything goes wrong or you get in over your head, even if it’s not related to our arrangement, we pull you out. No strings. Maybe we can even set you up somewhere else, might even be on the surface.’ 

Calia allowed her words time to sink in. She could feel it, her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, but she maintained an image of perfect calm and composure. For what felt like the first time in her entire life, she was the one in complete control. This entire scene was woven by her, she could feel the intoxicating power of authority fill her. ‘Come on Skeever, you have everything to gain, and nothing to lose, while we reduce the overall amount of crime in the level. Everyone wins. You, us, and even the people of level 1442.’ 

Skeever looked away from the padawan, weighing his options. She was so sure she had won, when outside she heard muffled shouting draw both beings’ attention. 

_No, it was too soon!_ Master Arten had arrived earlier than Mel had intentioned. 

Skeever turned back to her as she could almost feel the color flee from her face, ‘I’ve been hearing a lot of “us” and “we” jedi, but I’m begginin’ to suspect your Master might’ve different feelins on this arrangement.’ 

_It is ok, you knew this would be just as much about convincing Master_ _Arten_ _as it was about convincing Skeever. Just earlier than you planned. You can do it. This is what you can bring to the underlevels, words and diplomacy._

‘Skeever,’ she calmly, matter-of-factly, said, ‘ignore Master Arten for now. We can deal with him together in a few minutes.’ Yes, her tactics were already beginning to take shape in her mind. The two listened for more restrained shouts before the sound of what sounded like a being collapsing down. While still flustered, Calia took something of a perverse pleasure now that _she_ was the one making him wait outside alone with his thoughts. 

‘It is just the two of us speaking right now, what do you think of the deal?’ she asked once Master Arten finished his tantrum. Skeever rested his chin on one hand, a catlike smile on his face. She suspected he would try to use this new pressure to his advantage, Master Arten inadvertently weakening Calia’s position (a whisper in the back of her mind seemed to hint this would soon become a recurring theme). Maybe she could use him to her advantage however… 

‘Listen Skeever,’ she pressured him, ‘I know what you’re thinking, but this is already the best arrangement you could ever hope for.’ That wiped the smug grin of his mug. ‘I mean, it already sounds like you are coming out ahead in every way. All you need to do is keep on the lookout for useful information here and there, and not only will we stay out of your– eh, hair (he was completely bald), you will make more money, and have a chance start your own “buisness,”’ she laughed, ‘you could even get to sic us on your competitors, your own jedi attack kathhounds’ 

Skeever twisted in his seat away from her, as if he was staring out into a great expanse and not the dirt covered, grime riddled walls; his greed and self-interest at war with his anti-jedi sentiments, as she listened to an exaggerated sigh escape from her Master through the door as she heard Mel’s voice caught up in what was probably a fascinating story, as he acted out the highs and lows with a flair that would make any player envious. 

‘Well? do we have a deal?’ she asked. Calia could see it in Skeever’s eyes, he wanted it, to reach out and take the opportunity, but he was still holding back. He opened his mouth to speak, the words were slow and grating as he struggled to force them out, ‘Listen kid, it sounds good, but too good. I’ve had enough run-ins with the _jedi_ to know it won’t work out. He would never make exceptions, especially for me.’ 

Calia felt somewhat perturbed by how to him she was seemingly not a real Jedi, but at least she could contextualize it as working to her advantage in this case. It was just two mundane beings working against the common enemy in the Jedi Knight outside. She had already managed to get Skeever on her side, just like she had hoped. Now she was in a position to work him and Master Arten against each other. 

She sighed visibly, while exaggerated it was a sincere gesture, and announced, ‘Well, if that’s how you feel I suppose we are done. I am sorry it did not work out.’ She stood, pushing herself up with her hands, and vacantly looked around the empty bar, the cheap metal chairs, dented tables, stained walls, and sticky floor. It had a certain lived-in charm, despite how it made involuntarily crinkled her nose. She looked back to Skeever, the surprise had left his mouth agape, he clearly did not expect the Padawan to give up so easily. It was not always such a bad thing to be underestimated. ‘I suppose there is nothing left for us to discuss, I will be on my way to rejoin Master Arten, and leave you here.’ Skeever’s features moved succinctly from surprise, to shock, to a scowl of dismay as he instinctively cradled his previously injured hand. 

‘Wait, I’m sorry. Let’s just–’ 

‘No, _I_ am sorry Mr. Skeever ,’ she retorted, ‘you are right you really cannot trust me.’ Though she did feign a smirk of arrogance (it was not difficult), ‘I suspect you do trust what will happen next, with the _J_ _edi_ waiting impatiently outside, however.’ 

He stood, stammering his protestations as she made her way to the door. Calia had hoped to convince Skeever on the merits of her argument alone, and then explain to Master Arten why her method would produce better long-term results, but if Skeever needed to see the alternative to be convinced, seeing- no feeling the difference first-hand might be even more effective at communicating her point to him and her master than merely telling them. Perhaps, Master Arten’s early arrival would work out better for everyone in the long-run, even Skeever. Well she hoped so, it could also end in a total disaster for everyone, as nerves wriggled through her stomach. Calia could still hear more protests and pleading as she reached for the door controls, contrasted with Mel’s booming voice in the middle of his story on the other side. 

_Okay this is it. All or nothing. No more fear. You are taking control of your own destiny today, right now!_


	22. Just Talk: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter update this week, but next week's will be longer and worth the wait, I promise.

‘So then I take Tuk, who still had held the Jawa over his head, and now I have both held over my own head. I begin to yell to the other Jawas, who now have blasters trained on both of us–’ 

‘Mel please, I am not in the mood for a story right now,’ Arten groaned to the Merguntan, who either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Under different circumstances he would have been more than interested, he knew Tuk and Mel had history, but he had no idea how far back it went. He didn’t even know the two were from off-planet. Right now though, all he could think about was his Padawan alone in the _Sarlaac_ _Pit_ , only the Force knows why. Apparently, it was her idea too. Skeever was too much of a coward to ever raise a hand to him, but the teenage girl was another story. Not to mention he was surely holding a grudge from their last “talk.” Arten could only sit their probing the room with the Force continuously, waiting for a surge of aggression or violence, but despite this expectation all he felt was calm, steady, discussion, mostly from Calia. Still, he was just waiting for something to go wrong at any moment and fly into action lightsaber ready. 

‘Hmmph,’ Mel snorted ignoring Arten’s protest, ‘There I was holding two angry struggling beings over my head, with a dozen more ready to generously offer me a new hole in my body. What is old Mel to do? 

‘Mel!–’ his angry words were cut off by the whirring and grinding of the ancient automatic door struggling to slide on its tracks. In his annoyance he had missed Calia moving through the room to the door, and even more surprising he felt that Skeever was suddenly filled with manic desperation, like a caged animal. 

_What did she do to him?_

Standing in the Pit’s entrance she spoke directly to Arten, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, ‘Master, I am sorry I had to keep you out of our negotiations, but we are ready for you now.’ Arten stood up as Mel moved aside, and in a few short strides he was face to face with his padawan, “staring” her down. He was frustrated, once again here she was wasting his time, but she had taken an initiative he never expected from the demure girl. Initially, he was worried about leaving her alone with Skeever, but from the emotions radiating off the cowardly devaronian now she had been more than capable of handling herself. Even more impressively she did it without threatening him with violence, he would have felt her aggression. 

W _hat did she do to him?_

‘Calia?’ he asked, ‘What is going on here?’ 

‘Master, it is like I said, I was negotiating with Skeever for his help.’ 

‘His help? Really?’ Arten couldn’t stop the apprehension from slipping into his voice. 

‘Yes Master, but I am afraid it did not work out,’ she declared glancing back at Skeever with a sly half-smile. ‘I figured while he is here, you would want to take the opportunity to talk to him.’ 

Arten knew there was more going on here, and he didn’t like getting played, but she was right. Skeever could give him a new start. It worked once; it may work again. Not to mention how she seemingly had already softened the crook up for him, maybe that was her plan. He doubted it. 

Looking down on her (the height difference reminded him that she was still just a kid), Arten ordered, ‘Fine, but next time you need to let me know what you’re planning in advance. No moves without my word, agreed?’ 

‘Of course Master,’ she answered obediently, bowing slightly. 

Without another word he stepped around her into the _Sarlaac_ _Pit_ , unable to shirk the feeling she was still holding all the sabaac cards. Putting aside his lingering doubts about his Padawan he felt for Skeever, of course he was sitting in the exact spot Arten had been during their previous talk, his back was turned to the door but was attentively looking over his shoulder at the two Jedi. Perfect, just a subtle hint towards his previous wounds would grease the repulsors easily enough. 

‘Skeever! Long time no see! How’s the hand?’ The devaronian frowned, his eyes shifting from Arten to Calia. Strangely, there was suddenly more resentment towards Arten’s Padawan than himself. _Seriously_ _, what did she do to him?_ He could feel another smug smile on Calia’s face directed at Skeever. Arten felt his brow reflexively furrow in confusion. _I_ _t doesn’t matter_ , he thought to himself as he walked over towards the table. ‘You’re in my chair,’ Arten announced ironically. Skeever didn’t say anything, just folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. ‘Fine, fine, I’ll just get comfortable in your seat,’ he said sitting down. 

Getting comfortable, leaning forward over towards the table at Skeever who was instinctively keeping his hands close to his body, Arten considered just letting him stew for a bit like last time. However, he could feel the criminal was already plenty wound up. As the Jedi Knight opened his mouth to speak, Calia pulled up a chair and placed it halfway between Skeever and himself, he had expected she’d sit next to him. 

_Focus, you need to get a new lead._

‘So Skeever, I think you can imagine why I’m here.’ The statement lingered in the back of Arten’s consciousness, he hadn’t planned on being here, none of this was really his plan. Regardless, Skeever said nothing. Arten could feel the rising desire to bolt like a startled feline, but they both knew he’d never make it far. 

Arten asked flippantly, ‘Are we going to go through the same song and dance as last time, or are you just going to give me what I need without all the fuss?’ 

‘I’m not saying nothin, _Jedi._ ’ 

‘Fuss it is then.’ Arten said as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms up over his head, loosening up his body in a dramatic display. In a more subtle but even more intimidating affectation, he loosened his beskar knife in its sheath. He smirked at Skeever, he could feel beads of sweat forming on the being’s brow. 

Arten pulled the knife free, twisting it in his fingers slowly. ‘So Skeever, where do you want the blade this time? Hmm? Maybe I can lop off one of your horns? It won’t be too painful, but if my memory serves it has some serious cultural ramifications for your species. What about getting the other hand? Even it out.’ Skeever’s breathing was becoming rapid and haggard, he was going to crack any moment. ‘How about an eye? You have two, no reason you can’t get by with one. I mean, look at me. I get by fine without both eyes. Frag it, you might be more intmidating with an eyepatch.’ 

Remarkably, Skeever just stood up stoically. Arten could still feel the fear deep in his spirit, but he was just barely still in control of himself. The devaronian just glanced over at Calia, and asked, ‘You said I can leave whenever, right?’ 

She calmly nodded. 

‘See ya around then Jedi’ Skeever said to Calia ignoring Arten. Good luck,’ he added, and surprisingly Arten could feel he almost meant it. 

‘I didn’t say you could leave Skeever,’ Arten barked. Skeever began to turn and go, but Arten held up one hand, holding him in place with the Force. He could feel the mounting panic finally overwhelm the being as he struggled to move, his eyes going wide darting left and right searching for any escape, coming to rest on his Padawan. 

_It didn’t matter._

‘Ready to talk now, Skeever?’ Arten asked sarcastically. 

Skeever just looked him in the eyes, or well his bandages, years of anger and betrayal mounting in the being. Gathering up what little courage existed within his breast he growled, in one proud moment of useless defiance, ‘You Jedi are all the same. At least beings like me are honest about how drek we are.’ 

‘I’ll give you this Skeever, at least you found your backbone…Are you going to talk?’ 

‘Not to you, Jedi.’ 

Arten sat in silent contemplation. Fine, he was done playing games with Skeever. He wants to be a hardened criminal, time he starts treating him like one. He gripped his knife, flipped it in his hand holding it by the blade, and threw it. He aimed right for the devaronian’s right eye, guiding it through the Force. 


	23. Just Talk: Part 2

‘Enough Master!’ Calia yelled. The knife hovering in mid-air millimeters from Skeever’s dilated pupil. She could feel Master Arten trying to push the knife forward still, but she would not let him. She fought him; fought to protect Skeever from him. The two struggled, to an outsider the knife merely hovered there, but in reality, the Force was swirling and coursing all around it, as master and apprentice struggled to move it through a maelstrom of energy and power. Skeever suddenly dropped to his feet and made his way to the door, as Master Arten focused his power and effort on the knife releasing him from the Force’s incorporeal hold. 

This was no longer about intimidating Skeever. It was about the two Jedi. Both were beginning to sweat and strain from the exertion, but each was still holding steady. This was no longer just a test of power, but of ideas. Which would give in first. Which would bend to the other. Whose will would prove stronger. Calia could feel her drive, her determination not only to protect Skeever, but to redeem her master, her friend, fueling her and further inflaming the Force as it welled up and passed through her. 

Skeever regained his feet, and hit the door control, but ran head first into Mel’s bulky form blocking the way, who calmly stated, ‘I suspect you will be wanting to see this.’

Calia continued to struggle against her master, but she brought something unique to the confrontation. ‘Master,’ she called out, ‘look at yourself!’ Her words seemed to shock Master Arten back into the present, making him see how he had lost himself desperately trying overpowering his own Padawan, the knife clattering off the table unto the floor. She looked at him, and could see that he was looking at himself for the first time in a long time. He was so caught up in trying to get even a tiny scrap of information, maybe nothing at all, that he had fought his own Padawan, fought his friend, who was only trying to protect a being. A microcosm of his solitary, remorseless, path. 

‘Skeever,’ Calia asked calmly between strained tired breaths, ‘how does my deal sound now?’

‘Yes! Yes, no problem Jedi!’ he shrieked from across the room, backed up against the Mel’s towering form.

‘It’s fine, you will not be hurt, have a seat,’ she commanded. Calia looked to Arten, he seemed a shell of his usual self, the grit and determination seemingly flushed from him as he slumped back down into his seat, deflated.

Skeever made his way back to his chair, righted it and sat down apprehensively. Calia could see he was still ready to bolt if given the chance. She had to bring everyone at the table back to the same level. ‘Master,’ he turned his head towards her (it felt like the first time he had looked at her since their falling out), ‘let us just talk, shall we? Skeever and I worked out a deal where he would keep an eye out for any useful information, in exchange we would ignore his dealings so long as they remain benign, offer him protection, and would pay him a reasonable stipend.’

‘What?’ Master Arten asked, his energy slowly returning.  Stubborn to the end, Calia thought. It did not matter; she had already outmaneuvered him. Everything from here was just a matter of working out the details. ‘Master, this is what we are doing.’

‘There is no way we are paying him to commit crime. We would basically be bankrolling illegal enterprise here in the 1442,’ he whined.

The negotiations seemed to renew Skeever’s self-interest over any lingering reservations, she could imagine he felt he was near the best opportunity of his life, and could already taste it if he just fought for a bit harder for it. ‘That was the deal she made Jedi, should’ve known you’d try to back outta it!

‘Skeever, we are not paying you to commit crime!’

‘Master,’ Calia argued calmly, ‘Skeever brings something unique to the underlevels, something unique to the Galaxy.’ She could see the spark of recognition in Master Arten’s expression at the familiar phrase. She gloated internally. ‘He can finally do some good, not just for us but for himself and all the beings of the underlevels if we work with him  _ amicably _ ,’ going out of her way to accentuate the need for cooperation. ‘Yes, we’ll have to pay him, but he agreed to no drugs, violence, or other crimes which actually hurt the district. If he comes to run the smuggling in the area, and we can control what he does, everyone will be safer.’ Skeever’s bewildered expression revealed that he finally realized how he was never really in control. ‘Everyone wins, and Master, maybe he will get us something useful, something that will really make a difference. Not to mention if he does, he would come to us without the need to chase him down. Is it so hard to imagine working with him instead of against him?’

The Jedi and the criminal just stared at one another, an unseen understanding, a recollection seemed to pass between them. Somehow, she had struck a deep hidden chord ringing out. Calia felt– she felt confused. She had not planned for whatever was going on between them now. Considering it, she had no idea just how far back their history with one another went. She looked to her master, his expression was as unreadable and stoic as it usually was, but she could feel in him a pain and sadness, longing?

Master Arten began, ‘Skee– S’kar, I’m…I am sorry,’ his voice quivered and rattled in his throat. ‘We used to work together a lot, just like this, remember?’

Skeever looked at Master Arten and words, free of the disdain and sarcasm for the first time, said to him, ‘Yeah, well back then you paid me in chocolate, not credits.’

By the Force , Calia thought,  he was a duct-rat . That’s why her words had cut so deeply that night when she had torn into Master Arten.

The two older beings both laughed at the recollection, and Calia could not help but smile, a chuckle escaping her lips as well. ‘Remember that time you got your horns stuck in that grating trying to sneak into that adult holo-theater,’ Master Arten recalled. ‘You were dangling by your head, your legs kicking at the tits of that twi’lek girl on the holo-ad for at least an hour!’ Calia felt a blush creep up her neck, but she heard Master Arten laugh, the loudest most sincere laugh she had ever heard from him as he continued, ‘and when I got there your buddy, what was him name? Droon? had tried to pull you down, but only managed to pull your pants down!’

‘Agghhh,’ S’kar grunted in embarrassment, but Calia could tell he was enjoying the unexpected reminiscing.

‘Whatever happened to Droon?’ Master Arten asked between laughs.

S’kar’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. ‘You brought him in for spice dealing. Haven’t seen him since.’

The joy drained out of Master Arten again. ‘Listen S’kar. Fine, we can work together, at least try it.’

‘You really mean that Arten, you’ll leave me alone. Even pay me? Really?’ A bitter snicker escaped Skeever’s lips. It was the first time Calia had heard him use Master Arten’s name. 

The Jedi Knight pulled his hood down, and adjusted the knot that held his bandages in place. Suddenly, they came tumbling off his face. Clouded, scarred eyes bored into Skeever who stared back wide-eyed. Calia imagined the gesture was meant to be sincere, but a whispering told her that this visage was even more terrifying than his bandaged countenance.

‘S’kar, I am sorry,’ he apologized again ‘I’m sorry I allowed you to fall so far. I should have done more for you. I could have, but I was too focused on the bad parts of the 1442 that I failed to look after the good in it. If I looked out for you when you first went astray, or maybe went a little easier on you, things could have worked out differently.’

S’kar did not say anything, he just held out his hand across the table, the same one Master Arten had injured previously, ‘do we have a deal?’ he asked. Master Arten looked him in the eye, and took his hand. They shook. Calia realized she had been on the edge of her seat in bated anticipation, he heart fluttering in her chest, but now felt proud to have facilitated their reconciliation, at least for a time. She did not know if it would last, or if any good would really come from it, but all three of them would forever have this one moment of peace and friendship.

‘Well, it is good to see you two are finally friends again!’ a booming voice roared from behind the trio. 

‘Mel?!’ Master Arten questioned, aghast, ‘How long were you there?’

‘About mid-way through the knife floating battle. You should be thanking me, if not Skeever here would have been taking off.’

‘Mel, his name is S’kar,’ Master Arten protested.

‘So it is, so it is my friends,’ the burly Merguntan said with a chortle as he walked back into his establishment, closing the door behind him. ‘I am believing this is a cause for celebrating, no? I am having the perfect idea,’ he said as he went behind the bar.

‘No, no, Mel, please,’ Master Arten pleaded.

‘Hey,’ S’kar interrupted, ’if the man wants to treat us, let’s let him.

‘Please, at least not  _ that _ brandy. S’kar is probably traumatized by it.’

‘No Mel, I was traumatized by him,’ S’kar called out pointing to Master Arten, ‘bust out the Felucian brandy! It will be therapeutic for me!’

Mel just bellowed from deep in his core, as he returned from behind the bar with a bottle of a deep brown liquor and four– four glasses.  _ Oh no _ …

He set down one glass in front of each of them, before pulling up a fourth chair and sitting down himself across from Calia, his wide, bulky, frame taking up almost as much space as the other three beings combined. He then uncorked the bottle and poured a generous helping into each glass, even Calia’s.

‘Hey Mel,’ Master Arten protested, ‘I don’t think she can–’

‘Nonsense, she is probably most mature one in the room!’ Mel boomed.

_ He was not wrong.  _

Master Arten just shrugged.

‘Ma ixpāntzinco!’ Mel exclaimed in what must have been a native Merguntan toast, ‘to friendships both old and new!’ he cried raising his glass in the air. Master Arten was the first to follow, his clouded eyes alive with cheer. S’kar reluctantly followed suit raising his glass as he shirked away from the table slightly, as if he was embarrassed to be making such an archaic gesture. All eyes turned to Calia, and she realized this was the proudest, maybe happiest moment of her life up to now. All her achievements, all her memories as a Jedi seemed rote and hollow. Whether it was excelling at her lessons, building her lightsaber, or finishing her apprenticeship, they were all experiences which (in hindsight) seemed inevitable and were laid out by others for her. This reunion, in this quiet, old, dingy bar so far beneath the temple, had been entirely her achievement. She had finally done something good for the Galaxy, no matter how small it was, all on her own initiative and through her own actions. She had accomplished something no other being could have. Maybe it was small and ultimately inconsequential, but it belonged to her. 

She raised her glass with an energy, a sincere enthusiasm she could not remember ever feeling before, and yelled as loud as she could, ‘MA IXPĀNTZINCO!’ and downed her entire drink in one mouthful. She smiled as she set the glass down a sour tang lingering in her mouth, only to be greeted by three fearful faces, each carefully hiding a growing apprehension. Slowly, knowing smiles began to grow on her elders’ faces, and– 

Calia’s face flashed cold, while her stomach burned and bubbled like boiling acid. All she could hear was booming, but friendly laughter, as she violently ejected the contents of her stomach onto the floor. 


	24. Double Apprenticed: Part 1

‘Where are those reports!?’ screamed the woman’s voice from the other room. Calia scrambled to finish touching up the files she had been filling out at the data terminal at her desk before loading them unto a datapad. ‘Now Cassardis!’ the voice boomed again, as she watched the progress bar sluggishly move across the screen. Calia always imagined the Senate Building used top of the line equipment (her terminal and datapad were older than she was), but then again she already experienced more than a few let downs the past couple months. The progress bar finally filled, and Calia took the datapad into the back office. 

Sitting behind her desk was Senator Derica Geldsammel, who barely deigned to glance up at Calia as she snatched the datapad from her hand. Her silver eyes scanned the various readouts and datafeeds relating to military spending and the Grand Army of the Republic’s budget; spending had far outpaced the budget, once again, but no one ever seemed concerned. 

‘Is there a reason you’re still here?’ the senator asked, cold contempt bleeding out with each word. Calia just stood observing her dark graying hair tied in an elaborate braid, pale skin that had seemed to have never known the kiss of the sun despite representing a planet which almost exclusively exported agricultural products. The quality of her clothing, as well as the regalia and “trophies” on display around her office spoke to a wealth that should have been beyond a senator from such a humble system. Which, Calia supposed, was why she was here. Geldsammel could not even bother to expend any additional effort dismissing her, and just simply waved her away with a perfectly manicured hand as she turned leaning back in her real callath leather chair, absorbed in the reports.

Calia left the senator’s personal office, back into the larger workspace (though it was barely the same size as the office and was completely bare by comparison) for her support staff. Though, Samartia was such an insignificant planet that the support staff only amounted to Geldsammel’s personal assistant Xoti, and one intern, Cassardis, Calia’s new persona. 

After Master Arten and Calia made their arrangement with S’kar, for weeks there was nothing. Calia mostly just continued just with her studies and training, while also taking over monitoring and keeping track of S’kar and the handful of other informants (the others had received slightly less… _ lucrative _ agreements). Meanwhile, while Master Arten was spending seemingly every minute trying to keep the escalating violence to a minimum. Being freed from active investigation allowed him to do more to protect beings, but it took everything he had to just to maintain even the most basic amount of stability. Which left other sources of crime to grow unabated. All the while, the flow of Republic weapons were slowly but surely swelling; it was only a matter of time before it became too much for even him. They had gambled everything on Calia’s method to produce results,  _ he  _ had gambled everything. At times she could still feel his skepticism, but outwardly Master Arten had thrown himself into her more cooperative method of crime prevention with enthusiasm.

Which only made it more and more painful the more time passed without producing anything of value. Sure, they would get messages about where a deal was happening, or a new method of bringing in the weapons, but nothing on who the large-scale supplier was, or even the distributor. Despite paying out countless credits (Master Arten seemingly had a bottomless account, she knew better than to pull that thread), they had not produced anything useful. 

Calia was almost ready to give up on the concept, they really had only been funding crime, until S’kar arrived at the safehouse in-person. This was unusual enough as they normally communicated through holo-messages only; it was risky for both of them if they were caught interacting. He just handed her a datachip, before shuffling off in hurry. Of course, he obviously took the time to say he expected a bonus. Calia thought she would briefly examine the datachip herself before presenting it to Master Arten, so as to not waste his time if it turned out to be nothing. As Calia scanned the stored files they seemed to just be an average collection of receipts and shipping manifests. Yet, as she looked closer she saw that the shipments were in Republic weaponry, in quantities far too small to be official. Additionally, the receipts went to beings with names like Silverback, Voidwalker, Carouser, all obvious aliases. Despite how official and well-organized the files were, they were for illegal deals! Calia had nearly exploded out of her seat in triumph. After studying the datachip more carefully, that same creeping dread gradually returned. Whoever was behind these files took the same level of care and attention that went into organizing the information as went into making sure they would be untraceable. All the locations were written out in some kind of code, and only aliases were used in identifying employees and clients. She spent days pouring over the files, trying to find any tiny morsel that might prove illuminating, and eventually, she found it. 

It was not a receipt or manifest, but a private message that was encoded into the files; possibly a transcription of a conversation between two beings negotiating prices. Their identities were hidden in the usual codes, but at one point one of the beings lost their patience, and seemingly angrily blurted out the name of the other being, Geldsammel. It was flimsy at best, the name of a Galactic Senator uttered one time, on a datachip with hundreds of files, given to Calia by a known crim– an informant, who expected a bonus in exchange. Upon further research however, all the pieces fit. Calia found that Senator Derica Geldsammel was on the Galactic Senate Subcommittee on Grand Army of the Republic Munitions and Material Requisition (GARMM), it would have given her all the knowledge and the influence needed to siphon off surplus weapons illegally for personal profit. Additionally, despite the planet she represented, Sarmatia, being a poor agricultural planet, she seemed to wield a disproportionate amount of power and influence in the Republic Senate. Whether she bought further influence with her illegal profits, or merely pointing to the ruthlessness needed for such a brazen abuse of power, the circumstances seemed to further point to the possibility she was somehow tied to the inflow of weapons.

When Calia excitedly presented these findings to Master Arten however, he was less enthusiastic. Not because he doubted the possibility of the senator’s involvement, quite the opposite in-fact, he was immediately convinced. No, it was because he had felt as a senator, Geldsammel was absolutely untouchable. He explained how they would never be given permission from the Jedi Council to formally investigate her, especially considering his current precarious relationship the Order. Meanwhile, any information they obtained illegally would be unusable, only guaranteeing her freedom from consequence. Master Arten believed their only resource was to put away whomever the distributor was, and hope if Geldsammel was the supplier she would be unable to find another reliable partner. 

Calia however, was not so easily dissuaded. She had asked, ‘What if we could get permission from Geldsammel herself? Would that be sufficient?’ She could feel his interest was piqued when she explained how she saw an opening for an senatorial assistant internship position from her office during her research. If Calia was given permission to access her office and files legitimately, she may be able to find something to bring both the distributor and even the Geldsammel herself to justice. As Master Arten considered the proposition Calia could feel his apprehension, but he was slowly growing to trust her judgment more and more. He responded, ‘Even if this plan could work, it would be a longshot. We’d need to get you forged credentials, you would need to actually be selected for the position– it must be incredibly competitive– and you’d even have to practice not looking and sounding so…so much like a Jedi,’ he had tried to say as delicately as possible.

Once again, she had him. Once your opposition start negotiating terms, its just a matter of working out the details, and together they did work out all those details. Master Arten was able to get a very impressive forged identity for Calia from an unspecified contact in the Underworld Police. She would become Cassardis Neema, a native Coruscanti who had attended all the best schools and had a long-time passion for politics, complete with falsified transcripts, certifications, and letters of recommendation that a young being fresh out of their primary education looking to fluff out their resumé before applying to a prestigious university would want.

Calia had the idea to contact Master Medicum (Master Arten was…annoyed to say the least, finally having confirmation she had gone behind his back to meet his own master) about seeing if he had any connections in the Senate Office Building, and it turns out he did. It seemed he often received donations from various senators hoping to pay lip-service to helping the “underprivileged beings” of the lowerlevels. In short, Cassardis Neema receiving a recommendation from the Jedi Master, after “countless hours volunteering under him,” would go a long way in helping her secure the position in Geldsammel’s office. Especially considering Sarmatia was of such relatively little influence in the Republic its positions would be less competitive than a more prominent world 

Finally, Calia would have to, begrudgingly, learn to look and act like an influential surface Coruscanti. Thankfully, they had already met a being who had lived and worked among the upper-echelons of surface life, who was also an expert educator. Calia spent hours and hours with Ms. Chanta learning how to dress, how to act, and how to carry herself to convincingly assume her new identity. It had quickly become much more difficult than she imagined it would be. While her manners and etiquette as a Jedi were impeccable, she quickly discovered they were  _ too  _ impeccable. Ms. Chanta informed her that if she never let the mask slip, at all, beings would quickly grow suspicious. The most difficult part was learning to use contractions when she speaks. She just could not get it right.

Additionally, Calia had received a complete makeover to fit her persona. She received some of Ms. Chanta’s old clothes (though they were still more luxurious than anything she had ever worn), had learned the basics of applying makeup, and had styled her hair in the latest fashion for the first time. Despite the necessity, it had pained her greatly to undo the Padawan’s braid in her hair. She was meant to keep it until she had passed the Trials to become a full Jedi Knight, but saving lives was more important than ceremony. 

Calia and Ms. Chanta would sit together at Mel’s just talking and practicing, with Ms. Chanta checking and reminding her on speaking with a surface accent, as well as coaching her on what topics were appropriate to speak about. Oftentimes, Tuk was there, as he put it in his own words, “Warming up for the evening,” and she would practice speaking with him as well. The more she spoke to the old Sullustan, the more she suspected there was more to him than met the eye, as his perfect basic and thorough knowledge of galactic economics and politics felt incongruous with a struggling underlevel being. At least his cough had seemingly cleared up. Some evenings Master Arten would even join them on the rare occasion he would have time, though only in spirit, as he had no expertise for “blending in,” something he admitted was something of a personal weakness as a Jedi Investigator. The small group could be seen laughing and talking as Mel looked on from behind the bar, surrounded by a score of beings of all stripes enjoying a rowdy evening in the surprising popular local watering hole.

Those were some of the happiest days of the Padawan’s life.

Calia returned to her desk, having been dismissed by the senator to return to her “work.” She knew she’d have at least a few minutes before another scream called her back into the office about some necessary memo, or needing another transcription fine-tuned, or just wanting another cup of caf. In just a matter of a few weeks Cassardis Neema was born, and found herself fast tracked to an internship position within the office of Senator Derica Gerldsammel of the planet Sarmatia. An opportunity many beings would gladly kill to have. Though to Calia’s amusement, had Cassardis really spent her life dreaming of working in a Galactic Senator’s office, becoming a part of the turning gears of history’s greatest democracy, she would have been just as disappointing as Calia was when she became a Padawan.


	25. Double Apprenticed: Part 2

She had awoken that morning at 0500 in the morning, tired and groggy drifting through a fog. M8-T made her a bare essentials breakfast and a caf. Calia had quickly grown accustomed the drink’s ability to help her get moving in the mornings, despite the bitter taste. Sadly following her scant morning meal, there were no more easy trips in a supped up speeder or a skycab to get to her employment, she had to maintain the appearance of a young woman with her first job. Calia would traveled on foot each day to the nearest packed turbolift, crowding into the spherical chamber shoulder to shoulder with dozenss of other beings, rocketing straight upwards on the way to their essential but underappreciated work on the surface. Stepping out onto the surface, Calia could feel the early morning haze still lingering on her skin as the sun slowly peaked out from between the still towering skyscrapers. While her first journey back for her interview for the internship had proven invigorating, she could still remember how fresh and clean the air had felt after months of recycled oxygen, any pleasure she took from it was now curtailed knowing how so few had an opportunity to enjoy it on a daily basis. She herself only had a brief taste before moving into the dreary confines of the office. It was just enough to make her long for it all the more.

From there she would take a mag-train (which thankfully was considerably more comfortable than the turbo lift as she could sit and it was much cleaner) soaring hundreds of kilometers an hour well below the air-traffic on her way to the Senate Office Building. While technically separate from the Senate Rotunda, where the Senate would actually meet to debate and vote on legislation, the office building was located just across from the more famous institution, and is easily accessible quickly via private shuttles. The building was a smaller reflection of the Rotunda, a massive domed structure of durasteel having various entrances on all sides, though surprisingly few windows. Calia supposed most senators wanted to avoid the risk of a rouge air-speeder, accidentally or otherwise, crashing into their office. It was within this smaller structure that the thousands of senators each had their private offices.

There was a considerable degree of separation between the more prestigious and more humble suites, however. Take Samartia’s office, Calia was shocked when she had first arrived and just saw that it consisted of one small room with two desks and one spare chair: one desk for the senator’s assistant, another that would become Calia’s workstation, and the chair for any guests, which were rare. Meanwhile at the back of the room was a door leading to the senator’s private office which was easily as large as the rest of the office combined, and lavishly decorated with imported carpeting, red felt walls adorned with holos of the Geldsammel with various influential beings, even including a tiny green being with large pointed ears wearing Jedi robes, and a desk made of _real_ wood! Apparently an import from Samartia itself. According to the Senator Geldsammel, plants were the one thing the planet had in abundance.

Samartia was one of Coruscant’s “bread-basket” planets, one of the handful of worlds whose sole purpose was exporting vast quantities of grains and produce to keep the Galaxy’s capital and most populated planet at least some semblance of fed. From her own research in preparation of her interview Calia learned the planet had a varied environment, cold ice caps and a warm equator (imagine a planet completely dominated by one ecosystem, ridiculous), but most of the planet’s population was centered on one temperate continent dominated by fertile grasslands. It was with the vision of vast seas of wheat, oats, rice and other grains that the planet was colonized in the first place. As such, the mostly human colonists were scattered throughout the continent on either huge community owned cooperative farms, or small family owned homesteads. There was only one large city on the entire planet, and it’s only real purpose was to export all the agricultural products into orbit via a massive space elevator. Geldsammel’s constituents were then naturally most concerned with their representation within the Republics political system due to their small population, the taxes surrounding their exports, and improving the local infrastructure. Recently there had been a series of protests and threats of a strike surrounding ever increasing quotas without proportional new subsidies.

A sigh escaped Calia’s lips as she slumped into the hard chair as she realized how pointless all that research into Samartia had been. During her interview with Geldsammel and her assistant, another human woman named Xoti, the planet she would be aiding in the representation of barely came up. They mostly just asked her about her technical skills: how fast could she transcribe a committee meeting, how efficiently she could arrange and present data, or how well she could follow directions. She had found the interview exhausting, Calia always imagined the Jedi Order as being impersonal, but trying to get an internship forced her to strip any semblance of her individuality away for just the opportunity.

‘Cassardis?’ a gentle voice coaxed her from her recollections. Xoti was at her desk across from Calia’s, the bags under her eyes looking as heavy as always, a gentle smile on her lips. ‘You need to get working on transcribing the minutes from the senate floor yesterday, Ms. Geldsammel will expect a full report, like always.’ Calia glanced at the chrono on the wall, nearly eleven-hundred hours. Every day whether the senator attended the Senate or not, she expected a summation of every bill, speech, or proposal made in the senate rotunda, this of course was on top of Calia's other duties and demands from the senator. Oftentimes, she was expected to stay after work to ensure the report was ready for Geldsammel to read first thing in the morning. So naturally any spare moments during her work day had to be diverted to working on the senate report if she had any hope of leaving work on time.

‘Of course, I’ll get right on it.’ Calia answered, as she sat up, returning her attention to her computer terminal. She often found herself resenting Xoti’s constant nagging and reminders, but objectively knew she was just looking out for her. Xoti was not that much older than Calia herself, but her weariness gave her the air and energy of a being far beyond her years. While she waited for the recording of yesterday’s senate to load, Calia asked her, ‘So how was your evening yesterday?’

Xoti briefly looked up from her terminal, and responded as her eyes and fingers continued to whirl at an impressive speed. ‘Oh, the usual. Me and Hondir just stayed in, had a nice meal, and got to bed early.’

‘No energy for anything else? Right?’ Calia quipped.

With a knowing acknowledgment of their shared struggle, Xoti answered, ‘You know it.’ Before diverting her full attention back to her work. Frequently Calia, tried to ingratiate herself to the senator’s full-time aid, both in hopes of leveraging that relationship to maybe gain access to more secure files and data, and out of a genuine pursuit of friendship, but found it difficult to coax anything personal from her. She wondered if it was out of a desire to not become too emotionally attached, or because she was kept too busy to have a personal life. It was an almost Jedi-like stance on attachment.

The recording fully loaded, Calia affixed her earpiece ready to begin today’s transcription. She closed her eyes, and gathered the Force into herself. Feeling it coursing and moving through her, filling her with each breathe. She hit play, but cranked up the playback to times four speed, her hands whipping and flying as she copied and compiled the relevant information at a lighting pace, using the Force to enhance her mental and physical acuity to inhuman levels. This was the one time she allowed herself to use the Force in her work, aside from the occasional energy boost. If not, just this one task would almost be a second job in itself. If someone had informed Calia previously that she would be using her years of studying and training to use an ephemeral, unknowable, unfathomable source of life and power to get through her office drudgery faster, she may have been tempted to use that same power on them right there. Now though, she could not fathom how a being could get through this kind of work without it.

A voice in the back of her mind continued to remind her that using the Force in such a way for such an extended period everyday could leave a permanent impact on her body and mind. A sentient being was simply not made to channel that much energy, but she would just look up at the prematurely aging woman in front of her, and think that it really made no difference.

Time passed, Calia was unsure how much as her enhanced mental acuity drastically warped her perception of time, when the senator’s door suddenly swung open. Calia did not notice at first, her mind too absorbed in her transcription.

‘Cassardis!’ A shrill voice commanded. Calia in a single smooth motion paused the playback, stood up from her chair and contorted her upper body into a slight bow that was expected when addressing a senator of the Galactic Republic. Thankfully, while engrossed in her work, Calia’s mind and reflexes were still enhanced through the Force; her quick actions had most likely saved her from another tirade from the tyrannical woman.

Xoti may not have been so lucky as she stumbled up from her seat too late, leaving herself hanging in the open air like a fresh flank of meat in front of a hungry predator. Thankfully for the other assistant, Geldsammel was too busy to afford her any harsh words, as she turned her head towards Calia ordering, ‘Come along, I’ll be attending a GARMM meeting, and I want you there.’

Naturally, Calia knew there was a subcommittee meeting today, but Geldsammel was so unpredictable about whether she would actually attend any given scheduled event, often choosing to work on her own privately in her office, or leave early to network and rub elbows with the Coruscanti elite. ‘Of course, mam,’ Calia responded with another bow as she turned off her terminal, with Geldsammel handing her datapad back to Calia as she passed.

No early day for the intern tonight.

Though, Calia mused, a day following a galactic senator during her meetings would have been Cassardis’ highest aspiration, but even Cassardis probably would have been exhausted by the number of meetings she had attended up to this point, and the additional work each one would bring.

As she stood to follow the senator through the Senate Office Building, Calia’s mind wandered back to what she had seen and heard during the smaller subcommittee meetings, and even attending the Senate itself in the Grand Convocation Chamber in the center of the Senate Rotunda. The chamber was massive, as tall as Master Medicum’s aid center was wide with hundreds of circular repulsorpods assigned to various senators (more prominent representatives had their own, while most had to share), which could detach and float in the open air when it was that senator’s turn to address the legislative body. While in the center of the rotunda, extending several dozen meters straight up was the Supreme Chancellor’s podium. Though, it was more accurate to describe it as a platform as it dwarfed the repulsorpods, while looking more...solid, steady. It was the closest she had ever gotten to Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, the prime executive and the effective head of state for the entire Republic. While from Samartia’s repulsorpod he appeared as just a distant blip, she knew that despite the increasingly expansive emergency powers he wielded due to the Clone Wars, he was a just simple human with the air and energy of a kind grandfatherly figure, not unlike Master Medicum

From this main chamber Calia would sit next to Senator Geldsammel recording the minutes and most critical information regarding whatever was being discussed on the Senate floor. While much easier on her mind and body to simply record what was happening in real-time, she knew that it only meant more work would be piling up back in the office.

Ironically, despite how large and grand the chamber was, and how large and grand the speeches where, Calia noticed most of what took place in the rotunda was just talk, bluster. Senators would speak merely hoping to aggrandize themselves in the spotlght. Meanwhile, any legislation that came to a vote in the Rotunda had already been decreed by repulsors of politics whether it would arrive alive or dead long before it reached the actual floor. It was in the smaller much more mundane meeting rooms, like the one Calia was on her way to now, that the real scales of power were tipped and balanced. She would hear senators discuss humanitarian aid, war casualties, refugees, and other topics that would have an impact over billions– no trillions of beings as casually as they discussed where they would go for dinner.

Calia looked ahead at Geldsammel as they walked towards the meeting room, and a shiver moved up her spine as she subconsciously considered that even if they were successful in bringing her to justice- assuming she really was involved at all with the weapons shipments- how little an impact it would make. The thought filled her with another wave of fatigue, nearly tripping over her own feet. However, she remembered the words and lessons of Master Arten and Master Medicum, and felt revitalized by the resolve that even if her actions only saved a single life, then the entire Galaxy would be better for it, as she hurried to catch up to the senator.

Calia sat on the clean seat of the surface mag-train, the holo-display floated above her head read the time as twenty-two thirty five. She had her head resting against the next row of seats in front of her, fighting to keep her senses assheght off the exhaustion which had been assaulting her weary eyes. If she let herself nod off, she might miss her stop and that would only compound her weariness. The surface train would be relatively safe, but was still unable to escape the often leering eyes of male beings, especially late at night. Like the young, (but still older than her) human male who was staring her down from across the train despite her best efforts to avoid it. She was not in any real danger, she had her lightsaber hidden in an electronically shielded pocket at the bottom of her bag just in case. Despite this, her skin crawled as she felt his eyes linger over her form, and an additional shiver was sent down her spine as she recalled how some of the male senators would look at her despite her age.

Trying to avoid the gaze of the human across from her, Calia’s vision focused on the shifting cityscape as it zoomed passed through the train’s windows. She saw the tittering lights wink in an out, while the towering mega-structures where each vibrantly lit up as well from top to bottom. Despite being late at night, on the surface you could not escape the constant lights that shown everywhere. She wanted to reach out through the Force, to get a taste of life’s beauty, but she was too spent. Night on the surface seemed to have a distinctly different energy from the underlevels. It was- as if it was cleaner, safer, but that was merely an illusion for a world that was just as impersonal and cut-throat. An illusion which just worked harder to merely maintain the aura of civility.

She just wanted to get home. Get a shower. Have M8-T cook a nice meal. Maybe watch a holo-drama. Then sleep for a few hours before getting back up to do it all again. If she was lucky she might have a chance to catch up with Master Arten. If not she may be able to at least call Ms. Chanta. She had been an invaluable sympathetic and understanding confidant these past months, having had similar experiences in her own youth. 

If Calia really was Cassardis, a young woman who had dreamed of going into politics, she imagined that she would be feel even more miserable than Calia felt now. That was without even considering she had the Force to buoy herself, without it she knew she would already be drowning. So this is how most of the Galaxy lives? Suddenly the realization hit her, she was an Unseen now, toiling away giving everything she had to keep the Galaxy moving. Calia knew that this may have just been temporary for her, but so many beings lived this way their whole lives, with little to no hope of their lot improving. Each of them left fighting every day for those tiny scraps of joy they could wring out of their weary existence. Calia felt her heart and soul weep for each and every one as her own exhaustion sapped away at her.


	26. The Sting

Calia was working at her personal terminal, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and for the moment nothing was. Like always she had arrived at the senator’s office just after the crack of dawn, the brief glimpse of natural sunlight mocking her before entering the dreary windowless room. While she tried to work to keep her mind and nerves at ease, her heart was simply not in it. For better or worse, today she was ending her internship early. 

She had run into Master Arten the previous night, the first time she had seen him in person in what felt like weeks, she had lost track. All it took was one look at each other and both could instinctively feel the other was at their limit. The violence was continuing to escalate at seemingly exponential rate, Master Arten had completely given up investigating, as it was taking everything he had to merely preserve some semblance of safety and security. She saw his armor dotted with black scorch marks from blaster fire, and had a bloodied swollen lip. 

Calia was about to command him to get some rest, when he told her to do just that. ‘Kid you look like a mess,’ he had not meant to hurt her feelings, but the weariness made the words cut even deeper. She felt guilty and ashamed that she lacked the stamina to put up with an office job, while he was out there getting into shootouts (saberouts?) on a daily basis, but he told her, ‘Calia, just look around the underlevels, we both know that “normal” work can knock anyone on their ass.’ It was this realization that made Master and Padawan decide they needed a different approach; either they cracked Geldsammel now, or they would have to try something new. They both agreed it was time they stopped playing the senator’s game, and made her play their game. 

No more waiting around for her to slip up, together they would force her to act. Master Arten had insisted on not sharing the details of his idea with Calia. The more sincere her surprise was, the more likely Geldsammel would buy it. All he said is he would pressure the senator to act, and Calia just had to make sure she was there when she did.

Xoti looked up from her terminal, glancing at Cassardis. She wanted to tell the younger woman to pack her bags and run, that this life would eat away at her in more ways than one, but could never bring herself to. She was always too busy, and maybe that was the senator’s intention; keep the help so busy they don’t have time to conspire against you. Xoti just sighed to herself as she looked back down at her terminal, she had to make up the senators calendar for the next month, despite how she would inevitably have to change and alter it on a near daily basis anyway.

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_ Went the automatic door leading into the office, followed by a booming male voice, ‘Senator Geldsammel, I need a word with you!’ Xoti audibly groaned, flattening her clothing as she stood up. It was not unheard of for an upset constituent, an ignored political rival, or– _ugh_ – a spurned romantic fling to pay an unplanned visit to the senator’s office. She glanced over at Cassardis, this was the first time it had happened since she began working here, and she naturally had gone pale with a horrified expression on her face.

_ A bit much sweetie? Well, her nerves are probably already frayed enough as it is.  _

‘It’ll be fine,’ Xoti said in a reassuring voice as more bangs rattled the door on its track, ‘this kind of thing happens plenty, I paged the senate guard already just in case.’ Xoti was smugly thinking of how the elite soldier tasked with guarding the senators and even the chancellor, clad in their shining blue armor and ceremonial plumed helmets giving the illusion of ancient warriors would be more than capable of handling whoever was causing the disturbance. That was until she opened the door. 

A Jedi, but one unlike any she had seen before angrily pushed past her as soon as the entrance had slid open just enough for him to slip by. He was a mess, unkempt hair and an unshaven face, tattered and frayed robes over dented and scorched combat armor, and the Jedi was followed by the stench of burned ozone and stale persperation. Even the bandages he kept around his eyes were stained and curled from old sweat.

‘Sir, eh-,’ _What was the proper honorific for a Jedi? Was it Master? Or was that only for Jedi Masters?_ _Is he a Knight or a Master?_ ’

‘Geldsammel!’ the Jedi bellowed even louder, staring down the door to the senator’s personal office. 

‘Master Jedi,’ Xoti pleaded, ‘You cannot just barge in, you-’ 

Now the senator’s door slid open, revealing her standing there placid, her face a mask of stone despite the especially unusual disturbance. ‘Everything is fine Xoti, I’ll handle this,’ Geldsammel commanded, her gaze briefly flowing over her.

_ Now I’m in for it. Won’t be hearing the end of this anytime soon. _

As she stood aside and watched, Senator Geldsammel, as calmly and as composed as if she were casually discussing a random topic with any of her colleagues, asked the mysterious Jedi, ‘I’m afraid my office is not directly involved with the war, I feel there is little I can do for you, but please why don’t you come sit down and and we can discuss whatever it is you need. Cassardis,’ Geldsammel called, the intern nearly stumbling over herself as she reflexively sprug from her seat, ‘please go fetch our guest a caf.’

_ You should have already been standing Cassardis! You know better! _

The Jedi just stood, staring at the senator, his bandaged eyes seemingly attempting to burn a hole through her. Xoti afforded another glance towards Cassardis who seemed fixated on the unexpected being, with sweat forming on her brow, before finally breaking away to fulfill the request. The Jedi spoke, ‘It’s fine, don’t bother. I won’t be staying long,’ before leaning back against Xoti’s desk, arms crossed. ‘I’m just here to warn you.’

‘Warn me?’ Geldsammel repeated, her interest apparently piqued.

_ That was not the reaction I had expected. Where were the Senate Guard!? Wait, did they have jurisdiction over Jedi? _

‘Yes, you’re probably unaware, or maybe not, that recently Republic weaponry has been seeping down into the underlevels. I’ve been investigating where and how this has been happening for quite some time, and I am very happy to say I’ve recently narrowed in on a major criminal distributor.’

‘Oh interesting,’ the senator purred, her hands wringing behind her back. ‘That is excellent news, the Republic’s munitions causing harm to its own citizens is nothing short of a travesty. Perhaps, I can introduce some legislation for harsher penalties for the perpetrators?’

The Jedi chuckled, sniggered might be the more appropriate word, ‘I would hold off on that if I were you.’ He removed a large gleaming knife from a sheath on his chest, twisting and spinning the blade in his gloved fingers before balancing it’s point effortlessly on the tip of his index finger .

_ Was he trying to intimidate a Galactic Senator? _

‘The thing is Senator Geldsammel, I’ve learned from this distributor that a representative on the GARMM was siphoning munitions off to them. While they haven’t given up a specific name yet, it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Is that so?’ the senator replied.

‘Yes, yes it is. So I’m just here to let you know, that if you know who it is, or…’ he trailed off leaving the accusations all but said, ‘now would be the time for them to come forward. Better if the being were to turn themselves in, willingly and subtly, instead of being dragged out of the Senate Rotunda wearing energy cuffs in broad daylight. Though,’ he quipped looking the senator up and down, ‘I would take great pleasure in doing exactly that.’

The senator just stood there, impassive, but lightly furrowed lines along her brow revealed a crack in her stoic mask. ‘Master Jedi, I can assure you none of my colleagues on the GARMM committee could be responsible for these outright criminal accusations. You must be mistaken,’ she argued taking a few steps towards the Jedi. ‘Surely, you can’t rely on the testimony of such a criminal element.’ She was now standing just before him, centimeters from the blade balanced on his fingers.

He looked up at her, a mild grin across his face, ‘Please, the  _ honorable  _ senator must be more than aware of the outright  _ criminal  _ testimony that is accepted at face value in the senate every day.’

‘That is true,’ Geldsammel responded, ‘It seems everything is backwards in these tumultuous days. Jedi peacekeepers are generals leading an army of slaves into battle, such a travesty, is it not?’

_ That wiped the grin off the Jedi’s face alright. _

‘Though I suppose the Jedi do love their irony, like the irony of using a Jedi who is blind as an investigator.’ The Jedi stopped balancing the knife, flipping it in the air before catching and gripping it tightly in a reverse grip by the hilt. ‘Especially considering the sheer amount of crime which must take place every day in the underlevels, seems a waste of time for a Jedi’s efforts. Though it does reflect well on the Order that even their members with disabilities are still expected to provide something to the rest of society. If only we held the rest of the Galaxy to such a standard.’

Now the senator was the one smirking.

‘Senator,’ the Jedi’s voice was strained and hoarse, ‘I will be bringing this individual to justice, one way or another,’ the Jed paused sheathing his knife, ‘even if I must go outside the law myself to do it.’

‘Master Jedi, surely you are not suggesting you yourself willgo outside the legal system in your pursuit? We are all aware the Jedi are afforded certain privileges, but even they are in no way above the law.’

‘Madam Senator, I am a Jedi, not a tool of the Republic. Law, civil liberties, even the Republic itself, are all things beneath my notice. Unlike most Jedi I care only to follow the will of the Force to out injustice throughout the Galaxy, and I will do whatever is necessary to see justice is done,’ he said with a final flourish as he turned to leave the office. His long cloak billowing behind him as he went. He only stopped momentarily to say, ‘excuse me,’ as he passed Xoti on his way to the door.

Once he had left, the workplace’s sterility compromised by the outside world, Xoti eventually turned to Senator Geldsammel pleading, ‘I am terribly sorry, I’ll message the Supreme Chancellor’s office right away. Surely they will be able to call upon the Jedi Council to have this rouge disbarred right away, he-’

Geldsammel held up her hand to silence her, ‘You will do no such thing.’ She tilted her head towards Cassardis and commanded her, ‘Cassardis, be prepared to stay after working hours this evening, I have some work I need your help with.’ Before turning without any further words back towards her own office. The door silently gliding back into place on it’s well-oiled tacks behind her.

As Xoti retook her seat, she could feel the air was still filled the static energy of the confrontation _._ _Could Derica really be involved with what the Jedi had accused her of? She was definitely relentless enough in her lust for power, and she had a lot more influence than Samartia’s representative should wield. That was just owed to how connected and shrewd she was, right?_ She sighed back in her chair. _And then she asks Cassardis to stay behind, was it something Derica didn’t trust me with? Or is she trying to insulate me from whatever it is?_

An errant eye looked towards the younger aid, and she saw how rattled she seemed. Cassardis was gripping the edges of her desk like a vice as the color began to return to her features. Despite this, she had a faint smile on her lips. Xoti wanted to tell her– warn her– that any attention she would get from the senator alone that evening was nothing to look forward to, but let the words die in her throat as she sighed and got back to work. 


	27. Reflections

Calia just nervously tapped away at her terminal.

_ Tap. _

_ Tap. _

_ Tap. _

Mindlessly pressing keys, watching the seconds tick into minutes, tick into hours. She knew today would be her last day here in the senator’s employ, and so she really had no motivation to even maintain the appearance she was hard at work, especially after official hours. It would not have mattered anyway. Ever since her confrontation with Master Arten  Geldsammel had not left her office; she had even been rejecting all of her communications, which was exceptionally unusual for her. Calia hoped this meant that despite the strong front she put on– far stronger than Calia had imagined she would be, she should not have been surprised by the senator’s ruthlessness by this point– she had hopefully been sufficiently rattled by the accusations.

Xoti had already left for the day, offering a forlorn smile as she walked out of the office. Now it had been just Calia siting alone, waiting for the senator to call her into her private office for whatever reason or plan she had in mind when asking her to stay late. Calia imagined this is how the beings Master Arten left isolated before their interrogation often felt, alone with only their own thoughts and worries, their own anxieties being used against them. It was proving to be a very effective tactic, whether or not it was intentional in this case . Though, Calia supposed, maybe the senator was on the same starship as her? Hiding in her office, her mind tumbling through every possible angle or approach to protect herself from the Jedi. While the evidence of her involvement was always tenuous, her current reaction did seem to point towards a guilty conscious. It did not matter, what mattered was getting the evidence, and if  Geldsammel really was corrupt she would take a sincere pleasure in bringing her to justice. 

Calia allowed herself to push her perceptions into the office through the Force, she could feel the anxiety and nerves she had expected, but these were tempered by a steady confidence. It was almost akin to faith, as if  Geldsammel believed her elite status truly made her untouchable

_ We will see about that. _

‘ Cassardis ,’ went the voice from her terminal, but unlike the usual shriek, the senator’s voice came through as an almost maternal whisper, ‘I need you in my office now.’

Without responding, Cali stood allowing herself a moment to compose herself and find her center in the Force. Feeling her core, feeling it ring out through the Galaxy on the current of the Force, she steeled herself for whatever was about to happen.

Once again inside Derica  Geldsammel’s private office Calia saw that the lights were lowered to a dim haze, casting the yellow-orange sheen of a sunset on the embossed red walls and carpeting. The senator was sitting behind her lavish desk, her chair swiveled to face the wall where she had her various degrees, achievements, awards, and holo-photos on display, her face a calm but seemingly tired visage as she cradled a small drinking glass in one hand staring blankly at the  miniature summation of everything she had achieved. Calia could smell the faint tang of alcohol on the air once again.

_ Well, _ _ that is one way to calm one’s nerves. _

‘Yes, Senator  Geldsammel ?’ Calia asked being sure to remember the expected etiquette for addressing a member of the Galactic Senate.

‘It’s after hours, my dear. Relax, have a seat.’ 

_ Even here in the Senate Building I am being told I am too formal _ , Calia thought as she sat in the chair opposite the senator’s desk. Despite her tone, Calia had a not so faint suspicion that had she not addressed  Geldsammel accordingly, they would not be having such casual interactions now. 

This was the first time Calia had been permitted to sit in her personal office; the chair was soft as a  herulian feather-bed compared to the seat at her station. Calia sat in uncomfortable silence, unable to tear her gaze from the woman who had so dominated her life for these past few months. Looking at her now though, she seemed spent. The gray hairs on her head and the bags under her eyes seemed especially pronounced under the soft lighting, or maybe it was just the first time Calia had the time to just look at Derica. 

‘How long have you worked in my office, dear?’  Geldsammel asked, her words slightly slurred as she spoke.

‘Nearly three standard months.’ Calia responded promptly, her hands folded on her lap.

‘Hmm, yes. You have done quite well in that time. You may have lasted longer than any of my previous interns. Besides Xoti, of course.’

_ It is a six-month program. _

Geldsammel looked over at her aide, scanning her up and down side-eyed. It made Calia feel…conspicuous. As if she was somehow reading her soul for deception. Taking another sip, sloshing the remaining blood red liquid in her glass as she swallowed,  Geldsammel began, ‘Did– Did you know I am not actually from  Samartia ? Hmm?’

‘Yes, I was aware,’ answered Calia, uncomfortable with this level of informality, as if it was just a trap  Geldsammel had set for her, ready to pounce.

‘Do you know where I am from? Or how I got to where I am today? Hmm?’

‘I–ugh no. I’m sorry.’ It was not for a lack of trying. When Calia first read her name on that transcript months ago she had done everything she could to research and learn every bit of information she could on  Geldsammel , but there was virtually no information about her before she attained her first elected position on  Samartia almost two decades ago. 

‘Yes, I suppose I have covered my tracks quite well. Though, I am sure you’ve looked into it. You are very thorough. I respect that.’  Geldsammel let out a long sigh, looking for some truth in her swirling glass as she stared down into it. ‘I was– I was born here, here on Coruscant. My father was vice-president of one of  Czerka Corporation’s distribution centers, we lived quite well.’ She sighed again, now turning her full gaze on Calia. ‘I went to good schools, had my first  skycar at sixteen, a full ride through Coruscant Central University. I know to many beings that kind of life would be more than even their wildest dreams could ever afford them. The Galaxy, no matter how hard  _ we _ ,’ accentuating their connection by staring directly into Calia’s eyes, ‘try to make it a fair equitable place, it has been and will always be unfair. You see this instinctual drive across every single sentient species, to varying extents, no matter how little or how much we have, we always want more.’  Geldsammel chuckled, a wet giggle to herself, ‘Well perhaps it’s a holdover from when our varying ancestors were scraping to get by in the wilds before civilization reared its head.’

‘So  Cassardis , I was seemingly born to follow unto a set path, a life someone else planned out for me. Maybe a comfortable one, but not one I ever chose for myself.’  Geldsammel stood up from her desk, and walked to get a closer look at her wall of achievements. Staring, her face seemingly emotionless, she continued, ‘Maybe I should have been satisfied with what I had, but I was– I wasn’t. I just, saw nowhere to go. Leaving everything behind and risking it in the process seemed preferable to wasting away in stagnation.’ Downing the rest of her drink and setting the glass down behind her,  Geldsammel laughed harshly, turning her gaze on Calia once again, ‘I just think sentient beings just aren’t meant to live in an ordered society, and anything else is just a performance we put on for our– our own self-interest.’ Calia could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, as her flesh became goose pimpled with an oppressive anticipation. She was further set on edge as the senator silently slithered across the office, gliding behind her, an errant hand floating through Calia’s hair as she spun around her, and nearly toppling over as Derica clumsily sat down on her own desk in front of Calia.

They just silently stared into each other's eyes. She imagined– no she felt an unexpected kinship with the senator in this moment, they both had a course which had seemingly been plotted out for them, but with the comforting illusion of choice. No one had ever asked they what they wanted. No one had ever asked Calia what she wanted. She wished for the solid comfort of holding her lightsaber in her hands. Calia lost herself in that hard cold gaze, and a twinge of fear coursed through her as she saw her own reflection in Derica’s eyes.

Derica opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. Seemingly unsure what it was she meant to say, or maybe deciding now was not the time to say it. Instead, she continued her story, ‘So one day I left, I chose the nearest backwater world which still had some connection to Coruscant and worked to ingrain myself within it. I earned my citizenship, ran for my first post, and eventually became their representative. It was easier to be a big fish in a small pond.’

_ Again _ _ with the fish imagery. _

‘From there it was a matter of just putting in my time, forming the right relationships, and always looking for more and more opportunities.’ She sighed, and speaking under hear breath said, ‘and it is still not enough.’

Silence dominated the increasingly claustrophobic room. 

Suddenly,  Geldsammel reeled her head back with overwhelming cackling laughter. Calia tried to force a smile on her lips, but the rest of her face was contorted in an uncomfortable grimace. ‘You’re just sitting there wondering why I am telling you all of this! Isn’t that right?’

‘I ugh, no I’m just fine with having your time.’

‘Rubbish! It’s burning just sitting there listening to my ranting.’  Geldsammel announced with another laugh as she twisted her torso around to retrieve her glass and the bottle of fine wine she had been working on, almost lying flat over her desk as she struggled to reach it. Calia could feel her face flush in awkward embarrassment for the senator’s sake. Sitting back up, having decided to forgo the glass, and taking a swig directly from the bottle,  Geldsammel leaned forward resting her elbows on her knees after folding them over each other. With an awkward, but maybe her first sincere smile, she told Calia, ‘ Cassardis , the reason you are here, and the reason I am so hard on you, is I see potential in you.’

_ Right, sure you do. _

‘I see it in you  everday – everyday. You are always prompt, foresee what I need before I need to ask you, and I always give you more than I think you can handle, but you manage anyway.’

_ I only manage because I have the Force to call on _ .

‘It’s not just that though. I mean, I saw all those things in Xoti too. Tell me, why do you think I have the intern who has just barely finished their schooling following and listening in on me during every single meeting and senate hearing when I have a full-time, experienced, professional assistant?’ Calia had never considered it before, but it was true. Xoti and  Cassardis ’ work did seem almost reversed; with the full-time aid just handling administrative duties while she personally attended to the representative.

‘You don’t need to say anything, I can read it on your expression you’d already had an inkling, even if you didn’t realize it yourself.’

_ She was right. _

‘I know the best way to guide you, to build you up, is to break you down first. It’s why I always push you, never let you rest. I see in you someone who may even follow behind me one day.’ She leaned back again, seemingly a million kilometers away in her memory, gazing wistfully at something that was not really there. ‘I did, once upon a time, see similar potential in Xoti as well, but she is already on her way to burning out. Her heart is too soft for this life. I suppose I will be looking for a replacement soon,’ she announced looking to her wall, but with a shameless sidelong stare directed at Calia. 

_ You are right, she is too soft. _

‘You though, I see it deep in you. Maybe you haven’t even seen it yourself yet, but there is a hardness in you, a coldness. Not only do you have the power and drive to make the hard decisions, but the willingness to make them when other would shy away.’

Calia looked deeply into herself, and she found that maybe Derica was right. 

‘You hide it well, behind a– behind a reflection of meek submission, but, but I can see the machinations in your mind,’ she added slurring. ‘You just conceal your potential because you know others,  _ most _ others will overlook you. I don’t, I used the same trick once myself.’  Geldsammel shifted her legs, switching which was resting on top of the other. ‘I want to mold you, shape you,’ she purred gently reaching towards Calia’s chin, forcing her to look her in the eye. Calia could feel bile frothing in her guts. ‘I bring you everywhere so you can see for yourself how the Galaxy works, how to manipulate the levers of– the levers of power firsthand. I am sure you will reach far, and I want you to remember who helped you get there.’

Calia felt her heart pounding away in her chest as the senator’s grip on her chin tightened, helpless.

Suddenly Derica drew her hand away, pressing the skirt of her suit down as she stood up, her cool impersonal air returning. ‘Anyway  Cassardis , I need you to do a favor for me. Take this,’ she commanded as she reached towards her terminal and removed a  datachip before handing it to Calia. ‘I need you to hold onto this data for me. It is important and confidential; no one is to see it. Just store it somewhere safe until I ask for it back. Is that understood?’

Taking the  datachip , Calia simply answered, ‘Yes, senator.’

‘Good, then you can head home, and I expect you back in the office bright and early. I may be planning a visit to the Jedi Temple to inquire about our unexpected visitor. Have you been? I am sure it will be an enlightening experience either way.’

‘Of course, your honor. Thank you, I will see you tomorrow,’ Calia said, her full formal register returning completely as she stood to leave. As she reached the door control, her hand hovering just over it as the senator suddenly, her voice once again vulnerable, and almost– almost warm, ‘ Cassardis , I suspect this war will eventually change everything. I suggest you know which side to be one when it does.’

The Padawan did not say anything, she looked back and saw Derica’s eyes were wide, pleading.  Calia just left, with the warning echoing throughout her thoughts.

Calia sat on her familiar seat on the surface metro, a throbbing headache piercing and boring into her skull  right between her eyes. Despite this, she was too excited to wait. As soon as the Senate Office Building was out of sight (some paranoid part of her mind felt as though  Geldsammel would somehow know if she looked while still in eyeshot of the building) Calia removed her personal  datapad and slotted the  datachip . 

It was– Calia’s excitement froze her in place as her eyes quickly scanned and her hand scrolled through the files once again speeding her perception with the Force. 

It was everything she could have ever hoped for. 

She felt tears of excitement, joy, and pride welling up in her as she saw how the files were extensively a long, long, long list of blackmail on an underworld gangster by the name of Gorm. It had dates, receipts, more transcripts, and even video of both this Gorm’s underlings and even himself, a bulky  Chagrian male. Calia’s mind quickly racked itself reading between the lines of everything she was absorbing, and the truth quickly became clear. Somewhere, somehow,  Geldsammel was funneling Republic weapons to Gorm, who had the existing channels for selling and distributing the equipment. While the number of credits being dealt in would seem just a tiny blip in the Republic’s overall military budget, it represented an inordinate windfall of money for both sides. Knowing that she had much more to lose should their dealings come to light,  Geldsammel had been keeping meticulous files on Gorm and their arrangement to ensure that should he try to sell her out, he would go down as well. Trust, via mutually assured destruction.

This was more than enough to obtain permission to arrest the distributor, and then some. A conviction would be almost assured no matter how good his advocates were, the senator had always been thorough in everything she did. Like a lightsaber though, this attention to detail swung both ways. There was absolutely nothing in the files to tie the senator back to the arrangement. While it would be a major setback to bring Gorm to justice, eventually  Geldsammel would just find another distributor.

Then the thought hit her. Mutually assured destruction had to be mutual to be effective. Gorm must be keeping files on the senator as well. The information  S’kar obtained that had pointed them to  Geldsammel in the first place must have been but a tiny fragment of his information on her. They could use the information Calia had just obtained to procure his files legally, and hopefully bring both down.

And  Geldsammel had handed the information to Calia herself, willingly. Maybe Derica knew to look past her facade of “meek submission,” but had fallen for it all the same. She never suspected that the young, impressionable, maybe even naive girl would ever betray her, and so had trusted her to look after her dirty secrets; confident that every other being would never think to suspect her either. Despite all her hardship getting this point, Calia now felt power, real power. She smiled knowing that now she would be the one pushing the levers of power, but she would be pushing them in a direction that helped the Galaxy, not herself. Calia could not wait to see the fear and betrayal written across Derica’s face. Despite her own pride and satisfaction, the senator’s warnings continued to linger on the outskirts of her consciousness. Maybe she really did have a cruel ruthlessness deep in her, and maybe, even more frighteningly, she was beginning to find maybe she enjoyed it.


	28. Zero Hour

‘S’kar, you need to just relax.’

‘No, you stop relaxin! 'It’s easy for you to say, you’re not locked in a toilet, with gangsters breakin down the door controls, ready to gut you like a haraph. I did not sign up for this!’

Calia did have to give him that. None of this was part of the plan.

‘That’s it we’re moving now.’ Master Arten announced, not only to Calia, but to the small task force of Republic clone troopers they had assembled. ‘Tell S’kar you’re on your way.’

‘Me, Master?’ Calia asked, nerves creeping into her voice.

‘Yes, you need to extract him. I’ll be going after Gorm, and you’re the only one S’kar trusts. Don’t worry you’ll have Sigma Squad covering you. You can handle it.’

‘Right. Yes, master.’ 

So this was it. The culmination of Calia’s time as a Padawan. She knew that no matter how things played out today, she had made a positive difference on Coruscant, on the Galaxy, but now it was a matter of how much good she could do. This might not have been how she imagined making the Galaxy a better place months ago, but she was proud none the less. 

So this was it, zero hour.

Earlier that morning, just as the incandescent streamers of the early morning sunrise were just beginning to push their way between the megatowers of Coruscant’s surface, Calia sat apprehensively on a crate as beings clad in pure white armor moved and shifted around her. She was waiting in the task-force’s impromptu command center, set up in a vacant office space across from Gorm’s club  _ Paradiso _ . Glancing out the window overlooking the establishment Calia could see small, squat, square pyramid, especially noticeable for only being a handful of stories tall considering it was on the surface. While the collection of garish and flashy holosigns advertising parties, performers, or events which constantly strobed every color imaginable faintly through the morning gloom was not unusual for entertainment on Coruscant, the brightness only obscured the shadowy reality. From the outside the club may have seemed typical of Coruscant surface entertainment; in reality the it was just short of a fortress, featuring durasteel blast doors, all manner of surveillance and counter-intrusion technology, and a large full-time security staff. All meant to protect various criminal enterprises such as illegal smuggling, to drug production and refinement, and even sentient being trafficking. 

When Calia first explained what the information on the datachip she had received from Geldsammel meant, Master Arten was ecstatic. Another surge of excitement surged through him when she mentioned the underworld distributor’s name, Gorm. Whether that was his real name or an alias did not matter, what mattered was that for years Gorm had been an absolutely ruthless yet meticulous source of violence and crime across Coruscant. When Calia had argued that Gorm was most likely keeping his own files on Geldsammel, he retorted that the gangster would have contingencies in place to protect the data if he was arrested. Then to Calia’s surprise, he asked her, ‘What do you think we should do?’

Together, they worked out a way to bring both to justice and stop the weapons for good.

Which had lead to the formation of the current task-force. Looking across the command center once again, she observed the clone troopers hard at work. They were busy finishing their final preparations, and in a matter of minutes the Jedi and troopers would begin their operation to root out corruption on Coruscant. Despite Master Arten’s reservations about involving the military, and especially the clones, they had taken to the task with an indefatigable enthusiasm. While they all looked nearly identical in their pure white plastoid armor with red accents (the accents apparently marked them as military police) over a black body glove visible at the joints. Their faces may have been obscured by their helmets, but beneath them she knew they all appeared were almost identical. Despite this, she had quickly noticed that each was still an unique individual.

Granted, her interactions with the clones had still been limited up to this point. Calia had to– begrudingly– keep working under the senator while Master Arten preformed reconnaissance and planned the assault, as it would have been suspicious if she disappeared immediately after being given the data. She only had the occasional opportunity to sit in on the planning between Master Arten and CC-1683, or Commander Odin as he preferred, after a long day working thanks to the fact  _ Paradiso _ was not far from the Senate Building. 

‘Commander?’ the question broke Calia from her thoughts, as she turned instinctively towards the voice. She saw Briggs, his helmeted head tilted towards her, as he followed up asking, ‘The General is going to be starting the briefing momentarily.’ Both Jedi were still quite uncomfortable being referred to by military rank, neither felt they deserved the level of authority merely being Jedi conferred on them over the clones. To the clones however, the personal attitude the Jedi encouraged was just as foreign. 

Though, Sergeant CT-1006, or just Briggs, was especially stubborn. Despite his helmet completely covering his head and face, the T-shaped visor splitting at the base into what resembled a grim frown, Calia still immediately recognized him by his distinct aura in the Force. Even if the clones were all identical genetically, the Force still distinguished each one as completely unique. Even had she not felt his aura she could have recognized him by the tenor of his voice, his body language, or just the air which followed him.

She quickly responded standing, ‘Of course, I’ll be right behind you,’ as she stood stretching her back, pushing her lingering grogginess away. 

‘Did you sleep okay, Commander?’

‘I, ugh–’ Calia stammered not wanting to show any sign of weakness in front of the trooper. She was supposed to be his commanding officer now, meant to lead by example.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said answering his own question reassuringly, ‘this is your first major operation, right?’

She wanted to reply that it was her second, the first being Darkstar’s arrest, but that was nothing compared to the scale of what they were planning today. ‘I– Yes, it is Briggs.’

‘Don’t worry about the nerves, perfectly normal for even a soldier before an operation. It can help you keep your edge,’ he said removing his helmet. She saw his normal human features, brown skin, black hair neatly trimmed into a crew cut. If she did not know better she would have considered how absolutely unexceptional his features were, if not for the fact that the dozen or so other beings busy preparing their equipment around them shared those same features.

‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ she responded, ‘I will keep that in mind when I am covering you and your brothers from blaster fire later.’ In hindsight the joke may have been in bad taste, but he took it well enough chuckling, ‘Please do, always nice having a Jedi leading from the front.’ With that, he saluted as he turned on his heel back towards the briefing room as the other clones milling about the makeshift barracks began to follow behind him as well.

Watching them go, Calia understood Master Arten’s reservations about involving the clones. Initially, she believed it was just part of his cautious attitude, keep as few beings involved as possible to avoid information leaking, but he argued his concerns where the opposite. They needed raw manpower if they had any hope of taking Gorm in, and they could not trust regular Coruscant Security. Master Arten knew Gorm had officers on his payroll who could potentially sabotage their operation from the inside. The clones on the other hand were incorruptible, they had no use for credits, were raised from birth to be loyal to the Republic over anything else, and they quickly discovered the clones were intrinsically motivated to stop the flow of weapons as well. The thought that blasters meant to equip their younger brothers were being diverted to fund and supply criminals enraged them to no end. However, it was all these traits which made Master Arten uncomfortable around them, not them personally, but what they represented. These were living, feeling, sentient beings, with their own hopes, beliefs, and desires, who were ordered, bought, and paid for by the Republic to fight and die in a war they had no stake in. 

Geldsammel had meant it as an insult, but they really were an army of slaves. 

Even worse as they were bred into slavery, their genetic code twisted to make them more compliant and loyal. Leaving them more willing to carry out orders regardless of what they personally believed in, excited even.. Calia considered how could the Republic and the Jedi Order ever fallen so low as to use them, to throw the clones lives away for their own ends, but then she considered the family she had been ripped from, who she would never know and had not the slightest memory of as she followed the clones into the briefing room. 

Calia and the rest of the clone troopers stood around the holo-dispay set up on a table in the middle of the otherwise empty briefing room which had a full 3-D representation of  _ Paradiso _ . Master Arten and Commander Odin were late for their own briefing, leaving the Padawan and the troopers to their own devices momentarily. She mostly just stood and listened, listening to the righteous determination in the clone’s voices as their excitement of reclaiming Republic weapons from the criminal underworld coursed into their conversations. She heard one voice describe how they were looking forward to blasting some criminal scum, but she was glad to hear his gung-ho attitude was quickly gunned down by another more temperate voice arguing that their weapons were to be set to stun and suspects were to be subdued, not killed.

Suddenly, the door opposite where Calia was standing flew open, and a voice soared out, ‘Can the chatter! Attention!’ With mechanical precision, every clone in the briefing room flew to attention, standing straight and rigid with their right hand raising to a salute. The chamber was immediately consumed by silence except for the faint humming of the holo-display as Master Arten, Commander Odin, and most unlikely of all, S’kar entered the briefing room

Calia found herself with the strangest sense of  déjà vu . 

‘At ease, and take your helmets off, you’re not droids,’ Master Arten commanded. Calia observed the flush on her master’s cheeks as the clones followed his orders removing their helmets in almost perfect synchronization before standing at ease. He was uncomfortable giving orders, and always tried to treat the clones just as he would any other being. Despite his insistence they also treat the two Jedi as their equals, the clones persisted in maintaining their military decorum. Though, Calia did observe the occasional crack, such as one one trooper, Splitter, asking, ‘So this is it? Right, General?’ though his words stumbled from his mouth slightly as his eyes caught the “criminal” who was accompanying his commanding officers.

Ignoring this, Master Arten announced, stretching his voice up to be clearly heard by everyone in the chamber, ‘Right, we’re going to go over the final details of the raid now, then we move. Odin, if you will?’he asked.

‘Right away, sir–’

‘We just talked about this.’

‘I, ugh– Sure…Arten.’

Calia chuckled, and she was not the only one in the room who did.

Handling the holo-projector’s controls for Master Arten, as he was unable to work the controls and display properly (the clones were instantly respectful and understanding of his disability, no questions asked) the model shifted from  _ Paradiso _ to a 3-D display of a gruff Chagrian male, his lined and angular features offset by two long narrow horns extending off the top of his head, and two more horns growing form the ends of head-tails that began at the back of his head and pushed around to rest over his shoulders.

‘This is Gorm, only known alias,’ Master Arten began, ‘and currently the main distributor for weaponry being leaked from Republic supply lines.’ Calia could hear more murmurs and even some grunts and growls of frustration, as he went on, ‘Gorm is well-known for his discipline, caution, and ruthless enforcement, reversing the traditional Chagrian ideals of law and order, the and the beings under him are not to be taken lightly either. Only his most trusted, and most skilled underlings will be at  _ Paradiso _ . Trust that any one of them are far more dangerous than your typical battle droid. While Gorm has been a known factor in crime on Coruscant for decades, we never had the evidence to make him accountable for his actions. However, thanks to Calia, we now have that evidence, successfully tying him to the weapons and have obtained a warrant for his arrest.’ She instinctively pushed a lock of hair behind one ear, as she avoided the troopers’ gaze; she was never one for the spotlight.

‘Our first priority is that we are to arrest Gorm and all his underlings.’ Arten nondescriptly nodded to Commander Odin who announced, ‘Gents, that means non-lethal only–I am looking at you Sigma squad– blasters should be set to stun, concussion grenades only, and and hand-to-hand take downs should avoid all loss of life– I am looking at you Sigma squad!’ he repeated forcefully.

A laugh escaped the lips of Sigma Squad’s squad leader, Lord. While the four clones of Sigma Squad, Lord, Runner, Sam, and Decker, may have looked just like all the other clones, they were set apart as elite Clone Commandos. Distinguished not only by their more advanced weaponry and bulkier more sophisticated armor, whose visor faintly glowed blue and lacked the red accents, but by how they were –supposedly– superior on a genetic level over their more common brethren. All this in addition to being put through more demanding and difficult training. The commandos, while not openly hostile towards the troopers, often stood apart from them, carrying themselves with a sense of elite entitlement. A sense that was perhaps justified the contemptuous laughs which continued to escape Sigma Squad as their more lethal methods were being called out. Sigma Squad had already been making a name for themselves for expertly hunting down and eliminating criminal, terrorist, or Separatist infiltrators on the underlevels ever since the war began, and when Master Arten had requested a clone strike-force Republic High Command had insisted they be attached to the operation.

Mater Arten swooped down to quickly squash the laughter though, ‘Every on of these beings we bring in alive might mean ten more we can put away later. More importantly, they are living beings, just like yourselves, and deserve an opportunity to amend their ways.’ While no longer laughing, Calia could see the members of Sigma Squad smiling acerbically. Sensing this Arten turned his gaze on Lord, the squad leader, and warned, ‘And if any of you have objections or reservations they can take them up with me, personally. One-on-one. Outside the chain of command, understood?’ Any lingering smiles were replaced by somber acknowledgment from every clone in the room, including the commandos. Calia felt confident Master Arten would be more than a match for any one of the Clone Commandos, but as a squad…that would be interesting.

‘Now, addressing the Bullhorner in the room,’ Master Arten said gently pushing S’kar forward, who seemed distinctly unnerved by the sea of identical faces staring him down. Commander Odin shifted the holo-diplay back to the club, the entrances highlighted, as Master Arten went on, ‘If we hope to close the leak in the supply lines, we need to know who or where it is.’ Of course, she and Master Arten already knew the answer, but they did not want to risk any informational leaks before they had the evidence. ‘So we will need to get our hands on Gorm’s records. I can tell you, someone as careful as him will have contingencies in place to auto-delete his data the second there’s trouble. So, to do this we’ll need to infiltrate the club and upload their files ahead of our assault, and that is where S’kar comes in.’ 

S’kar bashfully waved a hand, unsure of the formal treatment and respectful looks from the troopers. ‘He’ll head inside the club alone, though he’ll be wired up with a listening device so we can monitor and guide his progress from here.’ Arten turned towards S’kar, as it seemed that part of the brief was more to his comfort his anxieties than anything else. It had taken quite a bit of convincing (and credits) from Calia to secure his assistance, but they needed someone who already had a connection to Gorm they could trust. 

Continuing Master Arten said, ‘Once he has the data, each squad will begin their sweep and clear of the club. If S’kar can’t get out before we move in he will be arrested to maintain his cover, so it’s even more essential only non-lethal force is used. He’s one of us.’ More nods of acknowledgment from the clones. ‘Sigma Squad and Calia will stay back ready to provide backup if any teams get bogged down. Odin will remain in the command center coordinating the teams while I go after Gorm, he didn’t get where he is without getting his own hands dirty, and I’m best suited to taking him in. Alright then, any questions?’

No one said anything. ‘Great, Odin you have them.’ Master Arten tilted his head towards Calia, who understood the unspoken gesture. The two stepped aside, followed by S’kar who didn’t know what else to do as Commander Odin began to go over the minutia, flicking and turning the holo-display as he broke down exactly what each squad’s part of the operation would involve.

Master Arten walked back into the makeshift barracks, and stood looking out the window high over-looking the club. Calia knew he could not actually see it, they were too far away for his Force-sight to give him a clear view, but she knew what he was searching for regardless. Calia just stood next to him wordlessly. She considered briefly, as she saw the sun finally poke its way from out behind the neares super towers, its golden rays lighting up Coruscant as it warmed her face, how she was late for work. Geldsammel was probably already throwing a tantrum. She was beyond caring at this point. She did feel a twinge of sympathy for Xoti who would bear the brunt of the tirade, however.

‘Well?’ Master Arten asked suddenly, ‘Have you planned out a speech? This all works out and you’ll be a minor celebrity, for a bit at least.’ Calia had never even considered that, but yes, a Jedi going undercover to root out a corrupt Galactic Senator would be news worthy, even during the war.

‘No Master,’ she answered with a sigh, ‘too busy.’

They stood in silence. Only feeling the Force move and swell around them as beings began to move and transit towards their work and vocations throughout the surface.

‘How’s the sunrise?’ Master Arten asked.

‘I prefer the sunrise on the underlevels.’

‘Me too.’

‘You Jedi are crazy. Ain’t no sun on the underworld.’ Calia could hear S’kar was trying to sound tough, but the rapture in his voice betrayed him. She could feel as the Force around him swelled and bloomed, brightening as it passed through him.

It was his first time seeing the sun.


	29. Easy'n Quick

_ “ _ Just go in, find the data backups, and get out.” Easy’n quick the Jedi says. “Oh don’t worry, S’kar. You’ll blend right in, and we’ll be there if you need to get pulled out.” Easy for ya to say. Stayin up in your command post just listenin in while I do all the legwork. S’kar had just walked in the backdoor to  _ Paradiso _ . Just waltzed in as if he had been there a hundred times. It might’ve been his idea– if you look an act the part nobody gonna ask questions– but now he was having some second thoughts. 

Slipin in through the back loading bay as cargo, mostly grub and hooch, was being loaded in, he moved through the kitchen, then past the big’ ole dance floor. It was somethin grand, the main part was octagonal-shaped on the bottom level, with tiers going up an out in every direction, with a raised platform in back where the DJ would’ve been. Now in the morning the overhead lights where on and there where at least a dozen droids going about cleaning the floors. S’kar imagined it must have been a moving joint when the lights where shifting every which color and the place was packed with guys and gals partying. He thought for a tic maybe he’d come back around later, but he remembered how it prob wouldn’t be open for a while after today.

From there he slipped through a door in the back, heading down a narrow staircase. He had tried his best to memorize the layout from the map they had up top, but now with his nerves churning in his guts and his hands shakin, all he could do was keep one foot in fron of the other. He knew the data backups the Jedi needed were on the lowest level. Arten said they they had their own generator, and that was where the most power was drawn besides the main dance floor; so they must’ve been there. So S’kar just kept headin down, deeper an deeper. Now, he wished he could stop and get directions from the Jedi. They said they’d be listenin in through the microphone they had taped onto the inside of his wrist, and it was two-way so they could talk to him if something went wrong, but he was too scared to use it. S’kar’d occasionally pass some man walking by here and there as he wandered the hallways, lookin all tough and mean. S’kar knew his cover was loose enough as it was, and if he got caught talkin inta his wrist he’d probably end up served up on the dance-floor as an appetizer that night. 

He just kept wandering. Trying to walk a balance between giving the impression he knew exactly where he was going, and stopping to check in doorways or down a hall for where to go. More than once he saw beings sitting down bent over long tables wearing thick gloves and magnification goggles assembling knockoffs, sorting through what he knew must have been stolen loot, or even shifting piles of red and white powder into little plastic baggies. The Jedi was right this whole thing was basically – was basically a, um…S’kar’s not great with words. A crime factory? Sure, that works. Of course, whenever he stopped and saw these kinds of things there was always a guard or someone who would look at him funny, and he’d have to keep moving quick. He felt his heart racing, knowing the longer he took to find those spacing datafiles, the more likely someone would ask about the shifty looking Devaronian wanderin around.

Why didn’t anybody put up signs or anything!? How’s a guy supposed to know where he’s going!? S’kar could imagine the two Jedi, and even those creepy-ass clones sniggering and laughing as they watched him wandering around aimlessly on that big fancy display. He’d show’em though. If S’kar couldn’t find confidence in himself, at least he could at least try to prove the others wrong.

‘Hey you!–’

‘That’s it. He’s in trouble, we’re going in.’

‘Master, just be patient. If he was in trouble we would have heard something more substantial.’

‘If we’re hearing trouble, it means he’s already in trouble, and it’s already too late.’

‘Master, have some faith. He can do it, he’s close,’Calia said trying to calm him. Master Arten just murmured to himself. He and the clones were ready to go since the very instant they sent S’kar out of the command center. The clones had fully donned their armor, readied their blaster, and were just waiting on the word. While Master Arten had been pacing up and down around the holo-display like an anxious caged cat. As her Master was unable to perceive the display, it had been left to the Padawan to monitor S’kar’s progress through the club, act as his “handler” as he had phrased it. S’kar had done well at first, moving through the loading area, then the main dance floor, but from there he had gotten twisted and turned around more than once. The little blip representing him in the 3-D display stopping and turning around or going in a wide circle. She had been tempted over and over to give him advice on which door or turn to take, but S’kar himself had been adamant before, “If ya call me and somebody hears, might as well fire up the incinerator.” Calia found herself wringing her crumpled robes in frustration, as more than once as he walked right past a doorway he should have taken.

S’kar was close now, so close, but he had just stopped moving completely, before a voice broke in. Now the listening device had gone silent. Well, not silent, there was a constant ruffling sound as if fabric was being pushed and pulled across the comm. Calia imagined he must have been holding his other hand over it, making sure they did not say anything to blow his cover.

Everyone in the command center was deathly silent as they listened.

Suddenly, a voice did come through, ‘I was, ugh just lookin for the toilet. I’m new here.’

Master Arten gripped the bridge of his nose, mumbling, ‘There’s no way–‘

The holo-speaker roared, ‘You blasted fjark! You’re supposed to ask a guard for an escort.’ The voice sounded human, and more annoyed than angry.

‘Right, right, but I ugh, just didn’t want to bother them. I got lost.’

Master Arten unclipped his lightsaber off his belt. Calia however, was cemented to the monitor. Her Master began making his way to the door, the clones falling in line behind him, when the display crackled again, ‘Fine, but just this once. Go down the hall, and take the door on your left. Down the stairs you’ll be in the backup server room. Don’t touch  _ anything _ ! Then keep going, there’s a toilet that the techies use. Then go right back to your work detail, and if I ever see you again, alone, I won’t be so nice. Understand!?’

_ No, there is no way he just told him exactly where to go _ …

‘Right away, yes, and– ugh thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to work here under you, it means a lot to me and my–’

_ Stop overselling it S’kar _

‘Just go!’

‘Yes, yes,’ and finally the little blip started moving again, faster now. Master Arten had returned, lightsaber back on his belt. ‘I cannot imagine we have this kind of luck.’

‘Well,’ Calia replied, ‘Maybe for once the Force is really on our side.’

Just upload the files they tell ya, but they don’t mention there’s terabytes of files. S’kar stood over the glowing terminal, its faint luminosity casting his nervous visage against the shadows clawing towards him. The “server room” was just a cramped room with a single server tower set in one corner, which a smattering of blinkin lights that didn’t seem to serve any purpose he could tell. S’kar’s eyes were completely focused on the small device he had plugged into it. Arten had told him all he had to do was plug it in, and it would set up an automatic uplink to their base. S’kar imagined the Jedi would’ve had some amazing fancy tech that would’ve made the whole thing wiz fast, but here he was watching the progress bar crawl across the display like a wounded akali slug. He kept hearing talk and an occasional laugh from the next room over which must have been the techies the bruiser he bumped into earlier mentioned. 

S’kar felt himself twitch and flinch everytime he heard a sound, knowing it was inevitable before one of’em decided to walk through the hatch and bust him right there. Why did he let the Jedi talk him into this. No amount of credits is worth getting strung up by his tendons. Suddenly, S’kar realized he didn’t necessarily have to stay and watch. The uplink should work on its own, but a part of him, a part of himself he refused to admit existed, felt he had to stay and make sure it worked. 

_ This is not the time to be growing a conscious _

He kept watching the upload tick by.

eighty-six percent.

eighty-seven percent.

eighty-eight.

He instinctively wiped his brow, and the back of his hand came away slick. S’kar decided to step back, ninety percent is enough right? Sure, the Jedi would’ve enough to do whatever they needed with ninety. Definitely.

Turning to leave, relatively confident he’d have an easier time getting out than he did gettin in, suddenly he heard a whirring behind him.

_ Of course. _

If there was one thing S’kar was good at, it was coming up with a quick lie or move to get out of trouble. See thing is, if he just tried to bolt out the exit it would’ve set off alarm bells, literally. So he did the opposite.

‘Hey,’ the skinny human woman called to him, but he was already rushing towards her intent to move around her.

‘Yeah sorry, I heard yall have a toilet down here, right? I’ll just be a minute.’ He didn’t wait for a response as he brushed past her. He saw the room was as scant and bare as the server room was, just four terminals and four chairs with a husky reptilian species S’kar didn’t recognize staring intently at a screen.  _ At least it was lit up a bit betta _ , S’kar thought as he sighed in momentary relief when he saw another door at the opposite end of the tech room. That had to be it, it just had to be. He heard more protests from the human he had nearly knocked over, which he ignored as he made a mad dash to the door. No matter what he did or said it was just a matta of time until they check the server and saw what he did. He could feel his whole body quiverin and shakin like when he tried to catch a quick wink someplace and the climate control goes out.

He slapped the control and slipped inside, and thank Gondi’ran’s balls it really was the toilet. Even better, the lock was manual, not electronic. He wretched it into place as hard as he could just as the knocking began.

Well, if there was a time to call the Jedi for help this was it.

He held his wrist with the bug and said into it, ‘Jedis! I need help, fast like! I got the upload done, I think, but now they’re on to me, I don’t know how long I got, the lock seems sturdy, but they might have some serious tools to get through. If you don–

A voice interrupted him back through the bug, the girl’s, ‘S’kar, you need to just relax.’

‘No, you stop relaxin!’ he barked back into the speaker. He felt his stomach lurk when he realized he had probably yelled loud enough for the human to hear him through the door. ‘It’s easy for you to say, you’re not locked in a toilet, with gangsters breakin down the door controls, ready to gut you like a haraph. I did not sign up for this!’


	30. Extraction

S’kar was braced up against the door. He had tried pulling the toilet off its fixtures to make a barricade, but it was fixed in place too good for him to move. At first, there was a knocking on the toilet door, and questions about who he was and what he was doing there. It wasn’t long before the pounding and banging had stopped, replaced by hushed but serious talk from, who he guessed, where the two techies he passed trying to decide what they should do. They must have seen the upload, must’ve. After that it was even worse– silence. Then later, there was more discussion but from different beings. S’kar suddenly heard the terrible peel of metal screeching along metal. They were trying to force the lock. 

_Hmmph, Force. Nice words since I guess I’ll be “one with the Force” soon enough._

The door was still holding for now at least, their own security biting them in the ass. He had completely lost track of how long it had been. Earlier, he had heard the Jedi gearin up to move over the comm, but he knew they’d never make it. It was too dangerous for them to move through the joint fast enough to reach him in time. Assuming they were even tryin. Didn’t matter, they’d never take that kind of risk on his account. 

Calia’s heart was afire, the adrenaline, the excitement, and more than anything her purpose, fueling her. Though, to Calia’s chagrin, Sigma squad was proving more than capable even had she not been there. 

With Master Arten’s word they had set their meticulously planned assault into motion. While most of the troopers would be infiltrating at different points, subduing and apprehending any suspects as they swept through the club, Calia and Sigma squad were retracing S’kar’s steps to extract him before he got into any more trouble. Hopefully, the building’s perimeter being breached from nearly every angle simultaneously would draw enough attention away from their informant for the Jedi and clones to reach him in time. 

They had rushed from the command center, straight to the club’s loading bay. As the loading bay was one of the regular squad’s infiltration point, they had some backup for this part, and they could have definitely used it as the bay probably had the densest proportion of the club’s crew in one place. After blowing open the large bay doors with a single fiery explosion that sent Calia’s ears ringing, the clones fearlessly pushed forward, blasters set to stun firing glowing blue rings that would overload a sentient being’s nervous system. The suspects had no such compulsions however, and fired on them with lethal red bolts from both around the bay and up in the overlooking rafters. Gorm must have kept a few beings up the higher vantage point to keep a vigilant eye over his own staff, as well as providing additional fire support in just such a situation. However, even with their defensive posture and willingness to use deadly force, they quickly wilted under the disciplined and droid-like efficiency of the clones. They seemingly moved in-sync, one was always firing while another rushed forward who would then fire as other caught up, enabling them to maintain covering fire while still continually pushing forward. Once they had moved in, Calia’s vision would occasionally catch a swirl of movement as one the clones a grabbed a being by their wrists or arm before twisting and throwing them onto the ground, or some other expert hand-to-hand maneuver. If _Paradiso’s_ guards struggled against the clone troopers in a blaster fight, they were absolutely dominated in close-quarters combat. 

Calia for her own part, mostly took to pushing forward with the troopers, providing cover for the clones with her lightsaber, deflecting and reflecting any shots fired towards them. She had taken the initiative to pull the beings firing on them down from up in rafters with the Force as soon as she had the chance. From their elevated position they had proven the most imminent threat to the strike force, and she heard more than a couple cheers as they were suddenly jerked down, their rain of fire stopping. Of course, Calia was careful to catch them before they hit the floor. 

All around her Calia could hear the Force alive, singing, with the flames of conflict. She saw beings, clones and natural born, moving and fighting. Smoke was rising from black burnt rings where blaster shots had missed their mark. Accompanying the sights were a cacophony of grunts, yells, blasters, and the occasional concussion grenade. Even as they bay was secured, she could still feel the lingering energy as so many beings all through the building were moving and fighting with aggression, fear, and purpose. Whether it was righteous or selfish, the Force did not distinguish between the energy and violence that beings directed towards one another. All shone with the same in the light. 

There was no time to think and take in what the Force meant for her now. They had to reach S’kar; she owed him that much.

Calia and Sigma Squad split up from the other troopers who, despite taking one casualty, where still motivated and determined; almost excited to do their duty. As she followed the commandos into the large concentrically-circled main dance floor, suspects fired down on them from seemingly every direction. Calia had thrown herself in front of the group reflecting the initial salvo of blaster bolts away. Runner then strut causally in front of her, a shot glancing of his armor’s right pauldron, and said in an almost giddy voice, ‘Thanks, now watch this.’ 

She could feel Sigma Squad took the expert coordination all the clones were trained to have even farther into a purer, emotionless, efficiency. Each clone then spread-out firing and moving simultaneously. They seemingly knew exactly where their brother needed them without the need to say anything. Their visors resembling a hard, grim mask as they simply swept aside any resistance, almost effortlessly. They moved like liquid, shifting and channeling towards wherever the resistance was weakest, deploying their specially modified blaster carbines and generous use of concussion grenades to surgically pick apart the suspects. Seemingly, they did not even break a sweat. 

She could see Runner moving forwards firing two shots at beings on the next level above him who quickly fell, before he dropped to one knee and Lord fired at where he had been standing a moment before, disabling a suspect who was ready to deliver a potentially fatal shot into his brother’s exposed side. Meanwhile, Sam sprinted towards the opposite end of the dance floor, as Decker threw a grenade which detonated behind the raised platform where entertainers would normally be preforming. The grenade went off only a split second before Sam threw himself into the chaos that ensued; had the throw been mistimed by even the briefest instant he would have hit his fellow commando, but the timing was flawless. Calia saw Sam making short work of the handful of stunned beings, dislocating limbs and breaking bones as casually as if he had done it every day. Maybe he did. 

Sigma Squad absolutely tore into their opposition. While even the occasional lucky shot merely found a rounded edge on their armor, glancing off harmlessly. Calia had been left at the entrance, holding her lightsaber as she merely watched them shoot and move in a dance of controlled violence and precision. She did not envy anyone who had to face them in combat. They had given Calia a moment to think how it was lucky battle droids did not feel fear, as the Republic fielded dozens of squads just like Sigma Squad throughout the battlefields of the Clone Wars. Thankfully, the clones had heeded her Master’s warnings, and were only subduing sentient beings today; had the commandos been in the mood to disobey orders, the club would have been a complete and utter slaughter. 

She was just glad they were on her side. 

Ragged nerves took their toll, leaving S’kar exhausted. He had spent so much of his life tired and afraid, and now seemingly at the end, bout to get snuffed out in a craphouse of all places, it’d finally been too much. S’kar just sat back down on the toilet, leaning his head back as far as his horns would allow it. Eyes closed. 

_By the Force, I wish I had a_ _cigarra_ _._

_Your always_ _supposta_ _give a man a_ _cigarra_ _and a blindfold before you end him, right?_ _It wouldn’t be that quick. They_ _gonna_ _do whatever it took to learn where I sent the info, and who I’m was working for. Few months ago, I’d’ve sold out the Jedi in a tic if it saved my skin._

_I guess I should try to hold out._

_For a bit at least._

_Won’t last long, not long at all._

S’kar slowly opened his eyes. They must’ve given up on forcing the controls, as he saw an orange glow slowly growing from around the lock, joined by the smell of burning metal. Must be a plasma torch. He stood up, brushed off his pants and sleeves. Stretched his back and felt the pop, pop, pop from his spine. He wiped away tears. He’d at least go out strong, tough. The trembling in his hands said otherwise, but he was beyond feeling fear. 

He knew, he could almost feel the lock would give up any time now. He closed his eyes. He was as ready as he could ever be. 

_Bwwooom!_

A deafening boom threatened to blow his eardrums, as he stumbled back down onto the toilet, violently scrapping the back of his head against the rough ferrocrete wall. 

_Explosives!? To blow open a toilet door!? Why was the door still closed?_

_Phew_ _!_

_Phew!_

_Phew!_

The sound from three distinct blaster shots reverberated and echoed around him, followed by the trudging of heavy footsteps. S’kar didn’t dare hold out hope, but maybe… 

He slowly and tentatively stood up, silence. Then, suddenly, he could hear more hushed words barely audible through the durasteel. He pressed his ear as close up against the locked door as he could with his horns in the way. 

‘Standard breaching procedure, stack up.’ 

‘No just wait,’ went another voice. It sounded like a young human girl! 

A few tense seconds ticked by. 

_Tap, tap._

Two light, almost gentle raps sounded off the toilet door as S’kar stepped back, lightly startled; his nerves well beyond being on edge, far off the edge. 

‘S’kar? It’s me, Calia. You in there.’ 

S’kar could feel his throat tighten, gulping back wracking sobs of pure joy and sheer relief. He tried to say something but his voice was caught in his throat. Just as he reached out towards the door control with his right hand to let the Jedi, to let Calia in– 

_Pssshhew._

A blue shaft of light erupted clean through the lock as his hand was hoverin just over it. Momentarily, as if in a trance, S’kar just looked at the blade piercing clean through, it was the same hand Arten had stabbed. Thankfully, the tip of the lightsaber’s blade came to a narrow point, so the gash was relatively small. She must have thought the lock was stuck in place after they tried burning it open before with the torch, or maybe he was unconscious and needed help when he didn’t say anythin. 

He hadn’t felt the pain yet, but he did smell the burning flesh. 

The blade shutoff, and blood began to trickle out of the wound as the hatch finally slid open, as she pushed it open using the Force. He saw Calia standing there her face decompressing with relief as she saw he was okay. There were some clones behind her, the ones in the bulkier armor. They had their blaster trained on him, but lowered’em once they recognized him. The girl was about ta say something, but then her hands flew up covering her mouth with a gasp, as she saw what she had accidentally done. S’kar hadn’t moved a millimeter since she impaled him, unintentionally this time. He felt as if the pain would surge through him the second he moved. 

_Whatever._

He collapsed forward throwing his arms around the girl, in a hug of relief and appreciatin for saving him, despite the accident. He’d have to see the pile’of credits before he was sure he forgave her, though. She hugged him back instinctively. Probly outa guilt, but hey, maybe they were friends too. Unfortunately, the clones thought he was lunging at her, and a tic later S’kar took a stun blast straight to his exposed face. 

He woke up hours later, unable to decide whether his splitting headache or stiff throbbing hand hurt more, just staring up at a pure, sterile, white ceiling. At least the soft bed and warm blankets were soft and fluffy like no bed he’d ever felt before. He glanced to his right and saw a plastic tube snakin down into his arm. 

_What’s in this IV?_ _Mmmmmh…Not that I’m complainin._

S’kar was just glad to be alive. Once the relief of not being in an incinerator wore off, his thoughts eventually drifted towards how the rest of the plan went down.


	31. There is no Death

Arten moved like a blur. In fact, with the Force enhancing his speed, he really was just a blur to the confused, scared, or panicked beings he passed by. While Arten was tempted to slow down, to help the clones and his Padawan by disabling hirelings and thugs as he passed, he knew all this would be for nothing if Gorm escaped. Even with evidence to put him away, if he manages to fade away into the underlevels the gangster would have no problem finding a new identity, and maybe even starting over.

Through this hallway, up that staircase, past another doorway, Arten moved. He had gone over and over with Commander Odin the fastest most efficient route to the room that was the best candidate for Gorm’s personal office. While it was difficult for Arten to visualize the route without being able to see the plans first-hand, he still had the commander on the commlink in his ear, monitoring his progress able to point him in the right direction if he strayed. The Jedi Knight ran into a mob of terrified workers, wearing overalls, goggles, thick rubber gloves, and surgical masks. Must have been cutting spice or death sticks for individual deals. In other circumstances Arten would have thought to detain them for their testimony, from the look of them most were probably shipped in from off-world to work, but he was in a hurry. Without even breaking his stride he dived up over them, his body lightly brushing against the ceiling as more shocked screams as what looked like an apparition soared above their heads. Arten just landed on his hands, rolling forward back onto his feet and continued sprinting forward without a second thought. 

It had only been maybe two minutes since he entered  _ Paradiso _ , but he was making excellent time. He knew he was close. Arten had locked his perception along the Force towards a singular being, one who was heavy with rage, aggression, and even apathy towards life, it had to be him. Arten stepped up to one final staircase, where two beings, a male human and female  aqualish stood guard. They were armed to the teeth with high-end blasters, far beyond the scope of even standard-issue military equipment, and he could feel they were both experienced and skilled combatants. Gorm’s hand-selected personal guard no doubt.

Arten had the element of surprise though.

While they clearly were aware of the raid, being in a defensive stance on each side of the arch at the top of the stairs, they had no idea they were up against a Jedi. Arten pushed the latent Force around him inwards, then as he leapt pushing the Force out behind him to soar straight up the staircase in one fluid movement. His boot slammed hard down as he turned and pivoted on his heel, grabbing the human by his hair, slamming his face with all the power he could muster straight into the  durasteel wall to his right before he could turn or react. Without stopping for an instant, even to inspect his handiwork, Arten leaned back at the waist, twisting away from the bolt of green energy from the  aqualish woman’s blaster. Arten spun again avoiding the second shot, before he was face to face with her large black eyes and mouth dominated by two large tusks. Arten firmly gripped the blaster in her hands, slipped his right leg behind her forward knee. Then using his free hand pushed her back towards the staircase, flipping her end over end using his leg as a fulcrum. She tumbled and fell down the staircase before crashing down with a thud at the bottom. Arten removed the power pack from the blaster still in his hands, then tossed it aside before quickly feeling for both beings in the Force. The human was unconscious from the sheer kinetic impact of hitting the wall, he’d need to see a neurologist, but would most likely be fine. The aqualish was still conscious, but the broken leg, ankle, and dislocated shoulder made him more than confident she wouldn’t be coming after him. 

He then moved his perception through the heavy security door the two had been guarding. Inside he felt the being he knew must have been Gorm, sitting calmly behind a wooden desk, furiously typing away at his terminal. Arten assumed he was manually verifying all his incriminating data was being purged. The Jedi Knight grinned. He was going to savor bringing him in, imagining the expression on Gorm’s face when he revealed they already had everything on him and his partner. 

While the door would have been difficult to breach with explosive charges, or even cutting through it with his lightsaber, Arten was familiar with its design from his prior legwork investigating the club. He just pulled off the control panel with a quick flick of the Force, knelt down and bypassed the lock by splicing the wires to reverse the electrical polarity. Stepping through the opening just as it slid up aside, Arten saw that the office was wide, but had an unusually low ceiling for such a luxurious design. To his right was a small casual sitting area with a low  caf table between  two well -upholstered couches, while to his left was a personal training area with various weights and a heavy full-sized punching-bag hanging by a chain from the ceiling. To his front he could feel a solid wooden desk, the organic material still faintly alive in the Force, and behind that was a wide window. From here any being who could still see would have been afforded a beautiful view of Coruscant’s early morning surface. However, Arten’s attention was focused elsewhere. Above the window mounted on two hooks was a weapon, it had a wooden haft nearly two meters long, and at each end where two narrow, but thick  thick blades made of an unknown metal mounted parallel along the haft. The weapon had caught Arten’s attention, as the Force coursed and slithered around it with painful emotions: despair, desperation, agony. Arten could only guess that the weapon had been the focal point for so many terrible acts that the emotions of its victims had left a permanent imprint on it.

Sitting below the bladed staff, his full attention turned on the Jedi Knight powering down the terminal was Gorm. He stood up wordlessly; his eyes locked onto the unwelcome intruder. Gorm stood nearly two and half meters tall, with the long horns sprouting from the top of his head nearly scraping the ceiling with two more sprouting from short headtails curving around his shoulders. He was heavily built, his muscles rippling beneath his blue skin, while the white dress shirt worn under a black vest seemed ready to tear away under the strain of his large chest, completing the formal look were perfectly tailored matching slacks and real black leather shoes. To Arten, all these physical details were nothing; his mind was completely focused on the feelings radiating off the man like a hideous heartbeat. The focal point in the Force Arten had followed to find him was nothing compared to what he felt now in this being’s presence. Despite his calm, emotionless, demeanor, just below the surface was a supernova of violence and rage waiting to explode. The Force told the Jedi, this was someone ready to kill without a moment’s indecision.

Arten activated his lightsaber,  _ pssshheww _ . He leveled his blade towards the being from across the room, and simply stated, ‘You are under arrest.’ No theatrics, no intimidation, not this time. He knew it was a waste of effort; Gorm was not some superstitious, fearful, street kid. He just stood up straighter, folding his hands behind his back, before flatly announcing, ‘The Jedi Order does not have the authority to enter these premises without my expressed permission. This assault on my business will not go unanswered.’

‘On the  _ authority  _ of the Galactic Republic,’ Arten replied, ‘you are under arrest.’

Gorm snorted, his large nostrils flexing, ‘Knight Arten, this has been a waste of time.’

_ He knows who I am! Does he know about Calia then!? _

The Chagrian continued, ‘Any evidence you may have planned to use against me or my associates has already been deleted. Even if you manage to take me in, you will not be able to keep me for long.’ Arten knew he could just tell him they had already obtained his files before the raid, but he wanted to savor Gorm’s expression when he was sitting in court and the tidal wave of evidence crashed down on his head. __ He’d quickly regret this moment of arrogance.

Besides, he was too focused on how Gorm knew who he was. Seemingly reading his thoughts, breaking the tense silence between them, Gorm said, ‘How could I not know about the Jedi who was so determined in disrupting my operations on level 1442.’ He casually drew one hand across his desk, carefully feeling the wood’s rough grain over his fingers. ‘While you only represented a minor inconvenience to my wider operations, the affront to my reputation could not be ignored. You are lucky you moved on me when you did, another day or two and our positions would be reversed; with my men breaking down the door to your ridiculous “home.”’

Arten saw red in his mind’s eye. 

_ He must know about Calia then _ – _ No, stop. That’s what he wants, an angry reckless opponent. He’s probably bluffing, it’s what I would do in Gorm’s position. It doesn’t matter. Right now, Gorm is the one cornered with nowhere to go.  _

Once again, catching Arten further off-guard, Gorm seemed perfectly ready to counter his thoughts. ‘Do you think I really did not prepare an emergency escape route? One not on any public record? I will make my escape. I will start again. And I will have my revenge.’

Arten could feel himself shaking, a quiver moving up and down his hands as he shifted into a ready stance trying to steel himself, trying to block out what Gorm’s words.  Suddenly an expression of longing and reflection shifted across Gorm’s features, before asking ‘You must know how I got my start here on Coruscant? I’ve been very careful to cultivate the story, but I’m unsure how many beings really know what happened.’

Arten, shifted one foot back bracing himself, saber held high straight towards the other being, as if to ward him away at a moment’s notice.

_ Ceiling it too low for Artaru, not nearly enough clearance to jump over or around him. _

‘I was still young, had been struggling just to get food in my stomach. All I had was my father’s charkam.’ Gorm reached up to the weapon over his head, gently lifting it up off its hooks and cradling it as gently as a newborn child. 

_ That haft is long. If those blades can resist my saber, he’ll have complete control of the distancing. He wouldn’t try using it against me if he _ _ wasn’t completely sure it could hold up to my saber. _

‘Then just hoping to score a few credits, I targeted a mysterious cloaked figure who seemed completely out of place on the underlevels. I had no idea what I had gotten into, but after the fight of my life, I was left standing over a dead Jedi, and cemented my reputation as the biggest meanest, bruiser of my district, no on the entire level.’

_ He’s fought Jedi before. He knows what to expect and won’t be intimidated or disoriented by the Force. _

‘You see, killing a Jedi face-to-face, one of the golden, untouchable, warriors of the Republic, made me larger than life. I could do anything. Now killing you, here and now, will only make my legend grow even greater.’ Gorm was smiling now, a hungry predatory smile.

_ I need to end this fight before he can close the distance. Otherwise, he’ll either tear me apart, or wear me down. _

‘You’ll die knowing your death will undo all your life’s work, as I rise from this with more influence and power than ever before.’

Arten did his best to stand firm, but he was no more immune to fear than anyone could be. Gorm had been more prepared for this assault than he could have imagined. While the raid might have taken him by surprise, Gorm had ensured long before Arten had even heard his name that he was prepared for a Jedi knocking on his door. The gangster’s physicality, his weapon, even the layout and shape of his office were all purposefully designed to give him an edge over a Jedi. Maybe, Arten had outmaneuvered him getting the data he needed to hold Geldsammel accountable, but Gorm had planned out this fight years in advance. These thoughts all whirled through Arten’s mind as he saw the Force twist darkly around and through Gorm, like shadowy serpents coiling around his body and whispering in his ears, the unassailable sign of a living being about to kill. 

Both their bodies tensed, ready to move. Each thinking, planning, trying to ready himself for every possibility the other could employ. Gorm twisted and tightened his grip on his weapon, his charkam. Arten loosened and flexed his shoulders as he shifted his guard from his left to his right side. 

The Jedi, in a flash whipped out his blaster, hoping to end the fight before it could begin. He quickly fired an array of shots from the hip, the weapon just barely clearing its holster. Gorm was ready though. He ducked down, dropping his own weapon, using both hands to flip his heavy wooden desk forward, absorbing the red bolts of plasma that only left scorched black rings on its once immaculate surface.

Arten tried to calculate what his opponent’s next move could be. With his blaster he still held the range advantage, he could feel there were no hidden blasters on or around the desk. Arten realized too late however, he had underestimated just how strong Gorm was. From a crouch, he pressed both hands firmly against his overturned desk, and with one colossal push, hurled it turning and flipping through the air with a single momentous act of physicality. While surprising, Arten’s super-human reflexes slowed the makeshift projectile to a crawl, and he was ready. Now Arten was the one planting his feet firmly on the floor, as he flipped, rolling over the flat edge of the desk as it spun and tumbled towards him. In a mere split-second he had deftly avoided being crushed, and was already back on his feet ready to fire again at his now exposed opponent. However, that split-second was all Gorm needed to pick up his  charkam and sprint towards the Jedi, his weapon held high over his right shoulder. Arten tried to fire into Gorm as he recovered his footing, but he only managed to get off a single shot which found its mark in the Chagrian’s lower abdomen. Any hope for an easy fight was quickly crushed as the hit only momentarily slowed his advance before a savage strike directed at Arten’s blaster cleanly cleaved it in two right in his hands.

_ So that’s how that feels,  _ Arten thought discarding the now useless slab of metal. Gorm’s vest must have been woven with energy dispersing fibers, just like the one he had given to Calia. It had been almost a year now, hadn’t it? Funny where the mind goes in these moments of intense danger.

Gorm wouldn’t give him any more time to think, swinging his long dual-sided weapon in a constant spinning dance of motion. If Arten ducked or tried to side-step an attack, Gorm would just smoothly continue the same motion attacking with the reverse end of the charkam , and if he tried to block or parry a blow, the gangster just redirected the momentum of the deflected strike to bring the opposite edge to bear. Every overpowering blow from the powerfully built being sent shivers up Arten’s arms, and in moments he was already feeling the numbing, burning strain in his back in shoulders All the while, the charkam’s length kept Gorm well out of reach of any counter attack from the Jedi Knight’s lightsaber. Arten had to give everything he had just keeping his defenses up and staying alive. Then there was that accursed low ceiling. If it was just a tiny fraction higher, he could jump, flip, and maneuver around Gorm, taking advantage of his superior speed to find an opening, but it was just too low. He then considered using the Force to try and push Gorm off balance, but to summon up enough energy to have any effect on such huge being he’d need to direct the blast with at least one hand, and he dared not take a hand of his lightsaber for a second or risk getting shorn clean in half.

Arten had to think of something fast, he was slowly but surely getting forced back towards the desk, which had miraculously landed right side up, but was now obstructing the door. Naturally, blocking off even the possibility of just escaping with his life. Maybe, Arten couldn’t afford to throw Gorm using the Force, but he could throw something else. A plan quickly laid itself out in Arten’s mind has he was forced to one knee by a particularly ferocious overhead strike. He jumped back as the other end of Gorm’s charkam came spinning and slammed down where he had been just a moment before, ripping through the carpeting before lodging momentarily into the durasteel flooring.

_ Must be a vibro-edge to cut into steel like that. If this doesn’t work there’s no other option, no way my armor would hold up to that blade. _

Arten had only a momentary opening as Gorm recovered from the blow, still holding onto his saber, ready for the next barrage, he gently coaxed his  beskar knife from the sheath on his chest with the Force. He tried to make the movement as subtle and precise as possible to avoid tipping Gorm off. As the Chagrian charged again, Arten flung the blade using the invisible energy of the Force, sending it careening through the air straight towards the dent where Gorm’s bulging neck muscles met his barrel chest. It was where the flesh would be thinnest. Gorm’s eyes went wide, but at the absolute last moment turned and spun the wooden haft to swat the knife aside. Arten had at least managed to send the makeshift projectile such force that it still spun through the air slicing a large gash across Gorm’s neck and into his left head-tail, before clattering unto the floor.

Feeling the blood trickle down the wound, Gorm’s eyes shown and burned through the Force a blazing fiery scarlet, as he roared, a deep, primal, thunder that rang through Arten’s ears making his legs shake and tremble with fear. 

_ There is no emotion, there is peace _

Gorm swung violently vertically across his body, knocking Arten’s blade sideways as he stumbled back.

_ There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. _

Arten tried to raise his saber to defend himself, but they both knew the fight was over. It just depended on how Gorm decided to end it, Arten realized as his weapon was forced out of his grasp with flourish that bit into the back of his hand.

_ There is no passion, there is serenity _

Gorm reversed the swing of his charkam aiming at his right side. Arten, knew nothing he did really mattered now, at least made an effort to twist away from the attack, but he was too hasty. Gorm had only feinted before bringing up the other end of the weapon upwards into Arten’s left side, driving its bladed edge deep into his ribs with such a ferocious blow he was lifted up into the air.

_ There is no chaos, there is harmony. _

Vertigo overwhelmed Arten’s senses momentarily as he felt as if he was floating, before being violently deposited back into reality as he slammed down unto his back on top of Gorm’s displaced desk. He couldn’t feel the blood blossoming out of the deep wound in his side, but he knew the resistance from his armor was the only reason the stroke had not disemboweled him instantly.

_ There is no death, there is the Force _

Gorm stood over him. Arten could feel that despite having the advantage the entire battle, he was exhausted as well, his chest rising and falling deeply. Despite Commander Odin surely realizing Arten was in trouble, and surely had clones on their way to try and save the Jedi, Gorm seemed intent on savoring and gloating over his adversary before finishing him. 

‘You fought well Jedi, but this changes nothing.’ He breathed and huffed, wiping away some of the blood streaming down his neck slowly as he clasped the wound with one hand. ‘I might not be able to make an example of you, but the girl will do fine.’

_ What!? _

‘Your Padawan, Calia Rayyah, will suffer for the disrespect you both have shown me.’

_ No. _

Gorm raised his weapon up, high up over his head gripping it firmly in both hands now. Arten could feel the Force darken around him even more. He meant to end it now. 

‘Her death, it will not be clean. It will not be quick. It come by my own hand. To serve as a lesson to others’

_ There is no death– _

_ No! I won’t to let you hurt her! _

The charkam fell. 

It landed with a dull  _ thuwmp  _ as it bounced unto the finely carpeted floor. Gorm fumbled feebly at his neck with both hands, but not his existing wound. The tip of Arten’s knife had sprouted out of the front of his throat, leaving him desperately trying to staunch the fountain of blood in vain as he fell to his knees choking and gurgling.

She’ll be safe. In a final moment of desperate panic, he had instinctively reached out through the Force finding his discarded knife, and drove it as hard as he could into Gorm using his last of the energy he could call on. It was all he had left

She’ll at least be safe.

Everything was hazy, he felt light, as if he was floating. A frightening cold was enveloping him in a lonely sheath. He could feel his blood dripping off the desk unto his boot. He tried to inhale deeply, but the gash in his side must have clipped his lung, and only a pink foam erupted from his lips. He tried to focus his senses, but recoiled in terror. He imagined if he sensed outwards, he’d be forced to watch the Force seeping out of him as he slowly died.

He was scared.

Tears were forming on the dirty stained bandages around his face. With his last vestiges of energy, he reached up and ripped them off his face. He wanted to meet the end with his eyes open.

_ It wasn’t a bad run, I guess. Managed to do some good. _

_ Just wish I told Chantara how I felt about her. Oh well, she has to know. _

_ Mel, Tuk, S’kar, stay safe without me, look out for each other. _

_ Master, I hope I did you proud. _

_ Calia, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. At least you’ll be safe now.  _

_ Who am I kidding? You’ll do fine without me.  _

_ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not done yet, an Epilogue will be up next week to cap everything off.


End file.
